


Exquisite and Violent

by Cesare, helens78



Series: Hellfire (AU) [7]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Chess, M/M, Telepathy, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2011-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a session in the Danger Room, Charles and Erik talk more seriously about some of their differences.  Erik finds out more about the people living in the Xavier Mansion.  And Hank introduces Erik to Cerebro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exquisite and Violent

**Author's Note:**

> There are references to some characters' unpleasant pasts in this one; see [the series notes](http://archiveofourown.org/series/9415) for details.

Necessary drudge work takes up most of Erik's afternoon. Angel loans him a laptop, and he begins documenting all the things he knows about Shaw, starting from the most recent information he has and working his way back.

He gets through the last year and a half, along with every contact he had, every deceased ally of Shaw's he can recall, before his stomach twists itself into knots and he shuts the laptop down, needing air.

A long walk outside does some good, but coming back into the house and reminding himself where he is _today_ is even better. Not trapped, not lost, not _alone_. He may not have a great deal of experience being a team player, but there's nothing like the vast, beautiful grounds of Charles's home to remind him that he's come a long way since Genosha.

His world was smaller then. For the first few years, when he was still a boy, he lived with other high-risk young mutants, those whose powers had already manifested and those whose families made them targets for violence. In the Genosha juvenile wing, he heard rumors that there'd been attacks on a variety of detention camps, people trying to harm young mutants or kidnap the ones who came from wealthy families.

"You're here for your own protection," they told him, and after a year of jumping at every noise, of begging to see his mother... of no harm coming to him, and no need to run... he started to believe them. Even after he turned fifteen and they isolated him from everyone else, he wanted to believe them.

 _It's to help you develop your powers... it's because there have been threats against your life... it's because your powers interfere with the technology that keeps everyone else safe. It's all for your benefit, Erik. You're not being punished._

His perspective is rather different now. From what he's discovered about the mutants who were with him in the juvenile wing, many of them were second- or third-generation mutants, ones with parents who were active or free, locations unknown. Some of them really were the sons and daughters of politicians, celebrities: wealthy men and women who could have been blackmailed to ensure their children's safety... or to make certain their mutant children were never revealed as their own.

But he's concluded over the years that anyone in that wing of Genosha with him was probably being protected against their own rescue. If his mother's rebellion had succeeded--

\--no, it would have been too late for him; by then, he was in isolation, Shaw his only contact with the outside world. She could have saved the others, he thinks, and she would have, but it took him four more years and every ounce of power at his disposal to free himself from Genosha.

And now... more than a decade later, he's _still_ free. He could be anywhere. He's chosen to be here, for now. And as temporary as that may be, he doesn't have to act like a prisoner. He can go where he wants; he can, within the boundaries of basic civility-- and what a luxury, for that to be his primary concern-- make himself at home.

Wandering around the house eventually takes him to the library, where he takes the opportunity to look around a little more thoroughly than he did when he was on the tour with Charles. Ducking his head in didn't really give him the full impression of this room; it's two stories, with a ladder connecting the lower floor to the upper, and the books aren't just for show.

There are textbooks and paperbacks and hardcovers, valuable first editions in a glass case on the first floor away from the windows, open shelves filled with well-read titles in no discernible order. Maybe the old-fashioned card catalogue down on the main level actually lists the contents of the room. Erik wouldn't be surprised.

He's just on the verge of pulling a book off the shelf when he hears footsteps outside the door, and when he turns around, Darwin's standing there, eyebrows raised.

"Took me long enough to find you," Darwin teases. He glances at the books Erik's standing before. "French language section. You speak French?"

"French, Spanish, German, Italian, Russian, and Hebrew," Erik says. "And English, obviously."

"Seven languages, really?" Darwin whistles. "Nice. I know most of those. Haven't run into a lot of people who speak Hebrew, though. You should give me a few lessons, I pick up languages fast."

Erik raises an eyebrow. "Fast enough to master a new language in two weeks?"

Darwin laughs and taps his temple. "I keep forgetting, you don't know everything about us yet. One of my adaptations is learning new skills quickly. Languages, I can absorb in a few hours."

"That would be useful," Erik admits. "You haven't just picked up language tapes for everything you're missing?"

"Doesn't work that way. I wish it did, I'd have everything by now." Darwin smiles. "But as it turns out, that particular adaptation needs to be triggered by another person. I'm not really sure why. Charles has a theory that a recording is just static data, but learning from another person gives my power something it can adapt to moment-by-moment."

"We'll carve out some time," Erik promises. He looks Darwin over; Darwin looks better than he did when Erik left the breakfast meeting. As reluctant as he is to press against that, he can't leave the question unasked. "You knew Shaw?"

Darwin nods, his lips twisting up hard. "Yeah. He was at Luma from last September through December, early December. It sounds like you have more recent leads on him than I do, so I don't know how helpful it is, but I gave Charles everything I could."

"It's helpful," Erik says immediately. "Thank you. I'm sure it isn't easy talking about it."

"It might be worth it," Darwin says. "Not just for you, not just for finding Shaw... the guy I was talking about this morning. Alex. If he was one of the people Shaw smuggled out through that bullshit 'intensive care' cover story, he might still be alive."

Erik nods. There are people in his life whose deaths he heard about only second-hand; if any of them were alive now... if any of them were in Shaw's hands... there's nothing he wouldn't do to have them back.

"Whatever I can do to help you," Erik says quietly, "just say the word."

Darwin looks stunned for a moment, but then he nods. "Thank you."

A moment passes, and Erik shifts a little uneasily-- it's been a long time since he had anyone he'd call an ally, let alone a friend. But then Darwin smiles at him again, and says, "So about what I was actually here for..."

Erik grins. "Not just keeping an eye on me?" It comes off teasing, maybe because part of Erik means it that way.

And Darwin responds in kind, shaking his head and laughing softly. "No, not this time. I was going to ask if you're still up for that race through the Danger Room. Charles said he was going to pull something together, and it seems like it's nearly ready. So if you want to change clothes and meet me down there, we can get started soon."

Erik nods. "I'm game. I'll see you downstairs, then."

"See you in a few."

Darwin disappears, and Erik heads back to his room. It's only when he gets there that he remembers Darwin's promise to find him new workout clothes, and this morning's t-shirt and sweats are still damp and clammy, not something he wants to dress himself in if he can avoid it. Fortunately, in the bags Darwin brought him yesterday, there's a pair of gym shorts, and a little more investigation produces a package of white tank tops. They'll serve.

He glances at himself in the mirror once he's dressed. The downside to the tank top is that it shows a hell of a lot of marks. Almost everything from Hellfire is gone by now-- the intense itch on his back from all the scrapes left by those vampire gloves has died off, so he assumes they're either gone or nearly so, and the bruises from the zippers were all but gone yesterday.

But the marks on his neck from yesterday morning's adventures in getting his collar off are still vivid-- less so than yesterday, but by no means unnoticeable-- and he has a few marks from last night's chess match, too. There are faint fingernail marks on his upper arms, the way he'd thought there might be... the way he'd _hoped_ there'd be, if he's being honest about it.

Maybe it's a good thing this morning's tryst was all in their minds. Erik's not sure what he'd look like if Charles had actually been in the shower with him, fucking him as senseless as he did in Erik's thoughts.

He turns away from the mirror impatiently. The hell with it. He's spent the last six weeks doing any number of humiliating, shameful things with people he hates; he spent years with Shaw, doing things that sicken him now. For the first time in his life, he has the opportunity to share sex with someone and fucking _revel_ in it. He's done nothing here he needs to be ashamed of, and he's damned if he's going to spend the next two weeks sneaking around and pretending.

He's _here_ now: not at Genosha, not at Hellfire, _free_. He doesn't have to be ashamed of anything.

When he shows up at the Danger Room, he's surprised to find that Darwin, Charles, and Hank are already there. Hank's doing something with a drill and an open panel at the far side of the room, but he seems to be finishing up; he puts the drill down, sets the panel back into place, and reattaches it with a screwdriver bit on the drill.

Erik can tell by feel that all the panels are equally secure, the room well-reinforced, but somehow the inner workings feel different than they did yesterday. He glances around, taking in the vast oval-shaped room, the tall freestanding wooden wall over at the right-hand side, the beams over a pit of some kind, short fat plastic cylinders-- bollards of some kind, barriers? he wonders how heavy they are-- on the floor, and a variety of other shapes that he can't quite identify.

At the near end, off to the left-- opposite the wooden wall-- there's a flag that can only be the object of this race course. They'll probably start with the wall, then, and work through the obstacles to the flag.

It's definitely meant for training, but Erik's grinning as he looks around; it also looks like _fun_.

He turns to Charles and finds himself surprised by the admiring expression on Charles's face. Erik smiles back at him. "Good afternoon to you, too."

Darwin turns when Erik starts talking, and he slaps his palm to his forehead. "I knew I was forgetting something. Workout clothes. I'll dig some up for you, I promise."

With a lingering look at Charles, Erik tells Darwin, "No hurry."

"I _bet,"_ Darwin mutters, but it's not like this morning, not so bitter. It feels more like a tease, and Erik feels some tension easing out of his body when he hears the tone. He hopes Alex is safe somewhere, that he isn't being hurt by Shaw, that he's still alive and out there waiting for Darwin to find him. Shaw's destroyed enough lives; he owes them. He owes them a lot more than one mutant's life, but that's a start.

Turning back to Charles, Erik almost laughs. While Charles seems to be covering his expression a bit better, his eyes have settled on one of the marks he left on Erik last night, a bruise Erik remembers earning very well indeed. «I didn't have anything else to wear...»

«It's really what you're not wearing that interests me at the moment,» Charles sends back immediately. «Or rather... what the clothes you do have on aren't covering.» Erik can see it through Charles's eyes for a split-second, the way his bruises look to Charles, even more stark when contrasted with Erik's white tank top.

Erik can't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction at that, and Charles raises his eyebrows. «You-- really. You chose that deliberately?»

Tilting his head up slightly, Erik gives a nearly-imperceptible nod. «I'm not going to walk around this place ashamed of myself. I'm done with that. This is what we are to each other, for now, and if you want me to cover that, I will... but you'll probably want to stop putting all these fresh marks on me, in that case.» He glances down at his upper arms, somewhat pointedly; he reaches up and rubs his fingertips over the heavy mark Charles was staring at before, the bite on the left side of his neck.

With fervent sincerity, Charles sends, «I absolutely don't want you to cover anything.» A split second later he seems to realizes what he literally just said, and colors.

Erik doesn't mean to smirk, exactly, but he's more than a little relieved to hear that. Despite reassurances from Charles, from Angel, he's been certain Charles was covering some amount of... disappointment, perhaps, or embarrassment, about their assignations. He's not the first person to come here by way of the Hellfire Club, it would be absurd to think he's the first person here with whom Charles has had... encounters, an affair, relations... but it's good to know that Charles doesn't want him-- doesn't want _them_ \-- to have to hide.

Perhaps sensing that relief, Charles moves a little closer to Erik, one hand coming up to Erik's shoulder as he turns Erik to face the start of the obstacle course. "We have a few different challenges waiting for you and Darwin to tackle. It's meant to be a race, and to that end, you'll have a time limit. But I'm looking forward to seeing how you adapt to the obstacles."

Erik squints at the course, taking in each section of the room one-by-one. There's very little metal involved, to his dismay, although obviously the walls, ceiling, and floor are metal-plated in most places. But the wall has only isolated iron spikes that are holding the planks together, the balance beam is leather-covered wood supported by some sort of nonmetallic spring system (the legs, at least, are steel), and all he can sense from the rest of the course-- underneath the floor-- are tiny bits and pieces, tubes and bolts and screws and rings.

"Funny you should mention adaptation," Erik says. "This looks far more attuned to Darwin's skills than mine. There's hardly any metal in any of it."

"We'll certainly give you a chance to demonstrate the extent of your power and control over metal soon. This is more about combat readiness."

Erik gives Charles a sidelong look. "There aren't a lot of combat situations where they'll have carefully removed all the metal from the vicinity." Even as he says it, though, he wonders. If Shaw knows about him, if he hasn't been careful enough, if his tracks aren't covered enough, Shaw would know to minimize the amount of metal around him. But how realistic is that? And his covers have always been secure...

"Be that as it may," Charles goes on, "it'll be interesting, and potentially useful, to see what you can accomplish under these circumstances."

"If you want to see a demonstration of my combat readiness, you ought to use a gun," Erik says, hands on his hips. "It's not as though you'd hurt Darwin, and you certainly can't hurt me."

Charles frowns at him, taken aback. "I'm not firing a gun at you!"

"You're content to watch me accomplish far less than I really can? I've seen the firing range, I've felt the armory." Even through a six-inch steel door, he could make out the impressive array of weaponry they have at hand, all meticulously maintained; he couldn't feel a hint of corrosion on anything. "Bring some of those things into play, if you really want to test my abilities. You know I could deflect it."

"If you know you can deflect it, then you're not challenging yourself," Charles points out archly. "You're welcome to use the firing range any time you'd like. I trust the bullets don't have to be coming at you for you to control them."

"No, of course not," Erik says. He looks over the course again. There doesn't appear to be anything he can't manage just with his body, irksome as it is to be limited to nothing more than flesh and bone. Still, in a competition like this, Darwin really will have the advantage over him. Who knows what his ability will allow him to do? Leap over the wall in a single bound? Race across the beam with his feet gone adhesive or prehensile?

The round barrels on the floor and the odd plates further along the course don't give any indication as to who'll have the advantage, but Erik knows he'll have to work a lot harder at this than he's been expecting.

"Fine," he sighs, "we'll do it this way for now." Grudgingly, he adds, "I'm sure it took you-- and McCoy, I assume-- quite a while to decide what to arrange for us."

"An entirely satisfactory way to spend part of the afternoon," Charles assures him with a smile. "Thank you."

«I can think of other satisfactory ways,» Erik thinks, before he can help himself, and Charles smiles at him again. To Erik's surprise, Charles comes up on his toes and leans in close, gently brushing his lips across Erik's-- Erik barely has a chance to acknowledge the kiss before it's over, and the urge to touch his mouth as he stares at Charles is very hard to resist.

"For luck," Charles says aloud, adding mentally, «We can explore some other satisfactory ways later.»

Erik hopes his chest and face aren't heating as much as he's afraid they might be. «They're not,» Charles reassures him. «You just look like a man who's been kissed for good luck, nothing more.»

«Should I feel lucky?» Erik asks, trying to be as light as Charles. But he can't. In the last two days, his life has changed... and, for once, a shocking change to Erik's circumstances has only been for the better. Erik's never once counted on luck, having never had much of it, but this... _Charles_...

Charles looks at him incisively, as if he's trying to sift through all the things Erik's feeling at this precise moment. And then he smiles, radiant.

«You seem to have an answer for that already,» he thinks.

Erik glances away, sure his expression will give his thoughts away, and he looks over at Darwin just in time to see Angel's wings unfurling as she lifts off into the air, putting herself at a face-to-face level with him to kiss him on the cheek. "Good luck. Go a _little_ easy on the new guy," she chides him.

Darwin snorts and catches Erik's eye for a second. "He doesn't need the handicap, trust me. You ready, Erik?"

"Yes," Erik says, and he sets his shoulders and nods to Charles, too. "I'm ready."

*

Watching Erik run through the obstacle course was a delightful prospect already; watching him do it while wearing little more than a few scraps of fabric and Charles's marks-- Charles is grateful, once again, that he has the ability to master certain base impulses.

Other impulses, like kissing Erik, are harder to control. It wasn't even Erik's scant clothing or the bruises themselves. Feeling Erik's fierce, somewhat hesitant pride about showing the marks made Charles want to give Erik something demonstrative in return.

That slightly defensive pride is a far cry from the derogatory things Erik said about himself just last night, before their reconciliation over chess, and Charles can't help a bit of satisfaction and pride himself, that Erik trusts him enough to be with him, to be open about it.

Now, though, there's an obstacle course to run. Charles speaks loudly and projects from the diaphragm, drawing on years of vocal training; if he can't cut a physically formidable figure, he can at least fill a room with his voice. "As everyone's ready, these are the rules of engagement."

He points out the flag, making sure both Erik and Darwin are giving it their attention. "You're racing for the flag at the end of the obstacle course. Try to avoid being tagged with paint or water. You can face off with each other at any point, but the goal is the flag, not beating one another." A look passes between Erik and Darwin, and although neither one of them has telepathic gifts, there's a certain understanding; Charles can see it in their matched set of smirks. "You can use the environment however you see fit. Erik, in your case that includes the metal of the walls and floor. I'm confident that any damage can be repaired later."

Charles withheld that fact when Erik asked about the lack of metal in the course, interested that Erik assumed the structural metal was out of bounds, and curious to see what Erik would say if he believed the odds were pitched against him. He's pleased that Erik simply criticized the race as a training exercise, rather than reacting with anger or paranoia at the stacked deck.

Erik raises an eyebrow now, taking in the obstacle course all over again, making a sharper, more detailed circuit of the room. He takes in the walls and flooring, the wooden wall and balance beam; past those there's the bunker field and the floor lifts and the electrified section of the room, although the static current isn't active just yet.

Behind almost all the water and paintball elements, there are small metal pieces-- nozzles, connectors, even little things like washers and nuts and bolts, and Erik seems to be searching out every last one of them.

By contrast, Darwin's quite relaxed, and no wonder-- while there might be a few surprises for him in the room, there are only so many obstacles they've managed to invent, let alone engineer and build. The wall and the bunkers and the rubberized panels of the floor lifts are all familiar to him.

When Erik looks over at Darwin, Darwin grins and offers a hand. "Good luck."

Erik blinks for a split-second and then takes Darwin's hand, clasping it with a hint of surprised enthusiasm. He nods. "To you as well," he says, and when Darwin smiles, Erik smiles back. It's warming; here, after so many years of loneliness and isolation, Erik's beginning to connect with people again.

Of course, he shakes that off as soon as he and Darwin separate again, withdrawing into himself as he faces the first obstacle. It saddens Charles a little to see Erik treating friendship like a potential distraction. But even if Charles doesn't agree, he understands why Erik would see it that way, and no matter how sincere they all are, a few days aren't enough to counteract a lifetime.

With their attention on the course again, Charles says, "I'd like your permission to intervene," and he puts his fingers to his temple, making the nature of his potential intervention clear, "if it looks to be necessary. We try to make the course a relatively safe way to train, but--" he gives Erik a quick grin-- "it is the Danger Room."

Darwin's the first to respond. "You've got permission, but you know how well that works on me." He reaches out with a thought, light and cautiously-projected: «And after this morning, God knows, you might not even be able to get a word in.»

Charles is just as delicate when he replies. «With any luck, it won't be necessary.»

He can feel Darwin's mind tensing up against his; it's a fascinating sensation, a bit like being on a moving sidewalk that's going the wrong way, rolling him out instead of bringing him in. «We'll see,» Darwin says, and that might be the last thing he says, or it might just be that his mind's closing Charles out completely. Charles hopes not; if he has to take Darwin over despite his mutation's mental safeguards, it won't be pleasant for either of them.

Erik, on the other hand, regards Charles for a few seconds and then offers, «The control element: for safety only, here and now. Agreed?»

«Of course.»

The tenor of Erik's thoughts turns more teasing, then, and Charles can see the way he's thinking of the fountain in the hedge maze... the aroused, nervous pleasure he was taking from Charles's hand on his face; the anticipation of having Charles's thoughts inside him. Again, Charles is glad he can suppress certain bodily reflexes, because he remembers that moment just as well as Erik does, and seeing it from Erik's side is... very moving.

«We were interrupted earlier,» Erik sends. «If you want, you can watch from inside.» His long fingers brush against his own temple. «As long as you can do it without distracting me?»

Charles holds in the little shiver that wants to take hold at Erik making that gesture, _inviting him in,_ too rare for Charles to ever take for granted. «I promise, you won't even know I'm there.»

«No hints, either!» Erik thinks quickly. «When I win, I want to earn it.»

«Of course. After all the time it took setting this up, I wouldn't help you cheat.» Charles flashes him a smile. "Thank you, gentlemen. All right, shall we set the timer to… eight minutes?" Hank nods, and Charles indicates the yellow starting line on the floor. "On your marks; it'll be just a moment while we go to the control room, and I'll let you know when to begin."

Up in the control room, Raven's already watching from behind the reinforced one-way glass. Hank exchanges smiles with her as he heads for the main control board, where he programs an eight-minute timer into the course. "Visible countdown or no?"

"I'll leave that up to you," says Charles.

"No, then," Hank says decisively. "I'm curious about Erik's time management skills. We know Darwin's are great."

Filing in behind everyone else, Angel says, "Darwin's not just great, he's got the perfect mutation for this course. Two rounds of dish duty on Darwin cleaning Erik's clock." She grins at Hank. "Visible or not." Hank has to mull over the humor for a moment, Charles can feel the gears turning in Hank's mind-- _visible countdown clock, right_ \-- and by then Angel's turning to Raven. "What do you say? Willing to place a bet?"

"On that guy?" Raven makes a face.

"I will," Hank steps in.

Both women look at him, surprised, but while Raven still looks annoyed that they're even discussing it, Angel's smiling. "Yeah? Over Darwin?"

"Well, maybe not if it was hand-to-hand," Hank says, looking down at the Danger Room and pushing his glasses slightly up on his nose, "but the obstacle course? Yeah. There's a lot of metal in there."

"Well, sure, the floor and the walls, like Charles said, and-- what's that last part, electrified floorplates?"

"Uh-huh."

"That too, right. But the rest of it, how much metal is really around for him to work with?"

"The wall has spikes holding it together, there's the balance beam's supports, and almost all the paintball mechanisms and water jets," Hank says, ticking them off on his fingers. "If we'd had more time I might have tried to rig up stuff out of PVC pipe, but Erik did kind of come out of nowhere."

Raven slants a look over at Charles, who busies himself with the console, double- and triple-checking all the triggering mechanisms. Fortunately, Angel's going on, "Okay, I can see that. But I'm sticking with my bet. Darwin's done a lot of this, and we don't know how quick to adapt Erik is just yet." Charles can feel her eyes on the back of his neck, though, and although she doesn't project any thoughts at him, he can fill in the blanks. _Some of us might know..._

Raven says, "Did he have to come in here showing off his hickeys? That's so high school."

Charles maintains his silence and his bland expression, refusing to engage with that.

After a beat of tension, Angel says, "None of the rest of us went to high school."

The moment strains on uncomfortably; Hank turns anxious deer-in-headlights eyes at Charles, who clears his throat. "Everything's set and ready to go." He flicks a switch and activates the PA system in the Danger Room. "Ready?" He nods at Hank, who nods in return, ready to hit the timer button. "Three... two... one... _go."_

Darwin's the first to begin moving, something Charles can tell only because he's open to both minds; he can sense the microseconds' head start Darwin earns himself. Darwin puts it to good use, vaulting up to the top of the wall, using only one hand to move himself up and help shift his weight over. He's a tumbler and a high jumper and an acrobat all at once, the muscles under his skin evolving beyond his baseline already.

Under his sweatpants, his legs are probably the pearlescent blue of his mutation creating super-strength, turning his skin scaly. Charles wishes Darwin were outfitted the way Erik is; it would be so interesting to see when, precisely, the mutation kicks in and gives Darwin that extra boost. Of course, Darwin's toned, muscular body is a pleasant sight in any event, and the grace of his motions is very appealing... he and Erik are an even match in that respect, whatever the outcome of the race.

He's grateful for his ability to multitask, because otherwise he'd be missing out on Erik's maneuvers while paying attention to Darwin. Darwin and Erik are nearly neck-and-neck so far, Darwin at the top of the wall and still moving, Erik just a little behind. Erik's approach to the first obstacle wasn't quite the same as Darwin's; he launched himself at the wall, too, but his aim was different. Unlike Darwin, who simply took a dozen running steps and leapt up, Erik made a direct path for the line of reinforcing bolts and then jumped straight in the air, his arms extended above his head as though he were diving upward.

From inside Erik's head, it's all instinct-- Charles can't tell if he was aiming for the metal deliberately, or if he was simply drawn to it like the living magnet he's sometimes believed himself to be. What he _can_ tell is that Erik is using the floor and those bolts to give him a vertical boost, using their magnetic fields as a springboard. He looks almost as if he's flying straight up, and the elation he gets from that nearly takes Charles's breath away.

He gets a whisper of thought from Erik as he catches the top of the wall with both hands-- _thank you, Angel_ \-- and Charles smiles, chuckling to himself.

"What?" Raven asks.

"He just thanked Angel for the flight lesson."

Angel cracks up. "Fast learner."

"All those bolts in a row, that's interesting," Hank observes, tablet in hand, taking some quick notes. "I wonder if he could maintain that over the course of a building."

" _I_ wonder if he's noticed the spikes on the floor," Raven says, nodding down at the next part of the course.

The flexible rubber spikes on the other side of the wall won't actually injure either of them if they land on them, but they also extend only a foot and a half out from the wall; they're meant to be leapt over and avoided, not powered through.

Darwin's run too many courses like this, because he launches himself forward automatically; if they want to surprise him, next time they should place the safe landing zone immediately after the wall and add the spikes further out, where Darwin's landing now. But this time, Darwin's headed for the balance beams, taking off at a run once again.

Erik does notice the spikes on the floor, almost too late to push himself out far enough to avoid them-- but that's not taking into account his ability, which allows him to shove himself forward using those magnetic fields again, as if jet-propelled. He tucks himself into a ball to control his motion through the air, a more elegant move than Charles had expected somehow-- but then with that diver's position at the base of the wall, perhaps Erik has some experience with acrobatics.

He hits the floor on his feet, automatically getting his bearings, and runs for the balance beam as well, several steps behind Darwin now.

"You're making this too easy," Darwin says, not even short of breath. Erik doesn't answer, and from inside his head, Charles can tell he's filtering out the comment, not letting the mild challenge penetrate.

A good sign; for all the volatile emotions Erik's shown, perhaps when he's actually in a fight, he can keep himself on target more easily than Charles had envisioned.

Darwin comes to the balance beam noticeably before Erik now, having earned himself a bit of a lead with his fast mantle-and-leap over and off the wall. No springboard needed; Darwin just pushes himself into the air and lands hard on the end of the beam, then takes off at a dead run, mutation giving him an unerring sense of stability. He's not put off by the pit below the beam; whatever's down there, if he hits bottom, he knows he'll just bounce.

When Erik gets to the balance beam, he can't take the same reckless approach. A four-foot straight jump is much harder for Erik than for Darwin, and what looks to be a bottomless pit gives Erik a bit of pause.

It's only a moment, though. For all that the shadows make it look depthless, Erik senses the plates at the bottom of the pit and their distance away from him-- only ten feet or so, nearly fifteen from atop the beam. It's a safe enough distance to drop if there's padding, and there is. Charles can feel Erik gauging the weight pressing down on the plating, correctly judging it to come from thick foam crash pads. It eliminates any worry Erik has of falling, not that he admits much concern into his consciousness, with his relentless focus on the goal. But getting out of that pit would cost him time.

He still gets onto the beam quickly-- with only an end-facing approach possible, Erik leaps, getting both hands under him at the end of the beam. There's not enough room for him to put his feet behind his hands, and clearly Erik anticipated that. He inverts himself neatly, kicking his legs up and over his head in a flip onto the bar. His tank top falls down, revealing his stomach and the lower curve of his belly, and Charles zeroes in on that little patch of skin for a moment, thinking about what it would feel like under his mouth, what it would taste like when he's like this, sweating from exertion.

Those are not the most impartial thoughts he's ever had; he steadies himself and tries to ignore Erik's bare skin-- _all_ of Erik's bare skin, the flush coming up over his shoulders and the base of his neck, the bruises starkly graven, the mark Charles so vividly recalls biting into him-- as Darwin hits the midpoint of the beam.

Erik's only just steadying himself in a crouch, but it's a good thing he's low. The instant Darwin gets to the center point, red lasers come into play, a complicated pattern that runs parallel and perpendicular to the beams at a variety of heights. Erik's lucky enough to be under one of the beams, but Darwin's going too fast to avoid the one at chest-height just in front of him. He interrupts the laser, and a barrage of paintballs comes flying out from the wall side of the beam obstacle.

Darwin adapts heightened speed and acuity to dodge the paintballs without setting off more lasers, but it's a near thing, and he teeters on the bar for a long moment before all his adaptations stabilize and begin to work in concert.

"Just one side?" Raven asks, looking over at Hank. "Kind of a gimme for Erik, isn't it? He's on the other side of the track, Darwin's closer to the wall."

Hank glances up at her. "We were pretty sure they wouldn't be on the same spot on the beams at the same time. And the center-line paintball array is made almost entirely of metal, the tubes in particular, so Erik could've just crunched that if it were facing him."

"Fifteen grand for that thing," Raven grumbles. "Yeah, just as well not to have it there, then." She cuts a look at Charles. "That thing about the plating-- let's hope his power makes him uniquely qualified to _fix_ things, too."

He is, of course. From cooperating with Erik to remove the suppression collar, Charles has an idea of the kind of fine control Erik is capable of-- though not accustomed to-- and he could feel how Erik reshaped the inner workings of the collar to make it appear normal while deactivating its function. That's not exactly the sort of proof that Charles would find appropriate to discuss with his sister, though.

"Darwin mentioned he put a new edge on a few of our kitchen knives," Charles says instead, still focused on the men below.

"Great. He likes sharp things," Raven says, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why am I not surprised?"

On the balance beam, the paintballs have passed by without incident, most of them landing neatly in the pit below the beams. That'll certainly help with cleanup, not to mention that it'll help ensure the beams aren't too slippery to walk on. Charles doesn't have to worry about that where Darwin is concerned-- he'd just adapt to counter any slippery spots-- but Erik would be at a disadvantage.

Erik doesn't seem to be worrying about that at the moment, though. Even with the additional challenge of the lasers, Charles can sense a deep joy in Erik right now. It's not the simple pleasure of exerting himself; underneath all that, there's something about the beam itself.

Charles catches an eight-year-old's view of steel girders, I-beams at a construction site where the workers are all off-duty. A slim hand reaching up but leaving him the space to make the walk his own... brown hair... the top of a woman's head. And metal all around him, a feeling of safety, protection. The invulnerability of youth. He jumps, twirls, holds his arms out to the sides like a little gymnast-to-be, and when he does something particularly tricky, she touches the beams and not Erik, which makes Erik feel-- something within the metal, something stirring, something that only makes him feel safer.

Could the woman be Erik's mother? Charles wonders. He can't see her face, not without digging deeper, and that's outside the bounds of Erik's permission at the moment. Charles only catches this memory now because it's so immediate, so present in Erik's mind for a few fleeting moments.

Charles staves himself off from the temptation of puzzling out those memories. He hasn't been invited. And there's more than enough to focus on with the obstacle course.

Darwin's nearly through the laser maze, having made a few breathtaking leaps and tumbles through the array. A flip near the end leaves him holding his body parallel to the beam while supporting himself on only one arm, stronger and steadier than any human could manage, with his other arm tight against his side, free and clear. He's extending outward from the balance beam, his body well away from the lasers.

He looks back at Erik, still picking his way through the maze, and laughs out loud. "Okay, man, fair warning-- I'm about to make you work for it," Darwin says-- and he windmills his free arm through the lasers, setting off six of them nearly at once before he drops off the end of the beam. Erik's eyes widen as the paintball spheres fire, and he slips off the side of the balance beam--

\--no, not slipping, _dropping_ , on purpose, Charles doesn't need to step in. Erik keeps hold of the bar with one hand, his whole body dangling below the level of the beam, but that doesn't mean he's safe. He still has to swing back to avoid some of the paintball capsules, swing forward to avoid others. He's tagged by only one, glancingly, leaving a red streak on the cap of his shoulder.

The capsules are all gelatin and nontoxic dye, no metal there or Erik would be manipulating them directly, but the barrels that fire them are metal-- to some degree he can sense their trajectory, feel which ones are going to fire and when. It's almost all instinctive, even as Erik works hand-over-hand toward the end of the beam. By the time he gets there, the paintball barrage is over, and Erik spares a thought toward whether it'll be easier to dismount just by shoving himself at the lip of the pit or whether he'd be better off climbing back up onto the beam and leaping, trusting himself to be faster than the paintballs.

It's no surprise to Charles when he chooses the latter. Erik's faith in others is marginal when it appears at all; his faith in himself appears to be limitless. He puts both hands on the same side of the beam, swings his legs forward, and then carefully but quickly gets himself up and over, lying with his stomach centered over the beam, twisting so he's parallel to it again. He comes up, crouching once more, and launches himself off the end of the beam, somersaulting on the floor to make the most of his momentum and to get away faster as the last paintballs fire.

"Come _on_ , Darwin, don't give him time to catch up," Angel says.

Darwin did stop momentarily to make sure Erik hadn't simply fallen into the pit, but Charles can see he's got no intention of conceding the fight-- or giving up any more of his lead. He weaves his way through the next section of the course, slipping between the bunkers, vaulting over one when it blocks the most direct path to the next challenge.

Erik's going through the bunker field, too, but when they're both well into that section of the course, the outer wall explodes in a flurry of paint projectiles. Erik immediately hits the ground, which blocks some of the paintballs, but one of them tags his right foot, still exposed between two of the bunkers, clipping the toe of his shoe. For this part of the course, being on the far side of the track is a disadvantage-- paintballs that are flying well above Darwin's head are losing their momentum and soaring through Erik's side of the field at chest-height and lower.

Recognizing that, Erik comes partway up on his feet and runs in a crouch out of his half of the course and into Darwin's. He takes the risk of running in between the last two rows of bunkers, sacrificing cover for speed, and ducks behind a bunker just before the wall hails down more paintballs.

Darwin's doing the same, his rhythm matched to the paintball firing assembly. In Darwin's case, Charles knows it's about enhanced hearing and reflexes, hearing the explosive burst of air that signals a shot going off. For Erik, it's all about the barrels of those paintball guns, feeling them flex minimally as the projectiles are fired.

One more sprint and pause, and Erik glances up, looking at the ceiling. Like the rest of the room, it's covered in metal plating, and he gestures sharply at it. Screws rain down and plates come off the ceiling-- several, just about enough to cover an area the size of a man.

Erik draws his hand down, focusing his ability, and forms a moving shield, something to block the paintballs from reaching him. He rockets to his feet and runs around the outside of the bunkers, bypassing a good section of the course while Darwin continues to take cover, darting from one bunker to the next.

"Crap, he's catching up," Angel laughs. "You had to tell him he could use the plating!"

"I'm surprised he's not changing its shape," Hank says, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "There's a lot he could be doing with those plates-- unless the titanium-adamantium alloy's a problem for some reason."

It's not, but Charles hardly has time to relay that. The alloy's new to Erik, incredibly hard but very pleasant to maneuver, a little lighter than expected thanks to the titanium component.

The metal is difficult to manufacture, and hard to obtain without gathering unwanted attention to the school, but the expense has been worth it. Sometimes that alloy has made the difference between a ruined Danger Room and a Danger Room that comes through an exercise merely dented.

"I wonder if he's got any experience creating alloys, or purifying metals," Hank muses. "I'm not sure what he'd do with pure adamantium or pure titanium that he couldn't do with the plates, but it's an intriguing thought, isn't it?"

The silence that comes from Angel and Raven makes Charles draw some of his attention back to the young scientist, nodding without taking his eyes off the Danger Room floor. "It _is_ interesting, yes," Charles says, "and if he's capable of forming his own alloys, it would certainly come in handy for putting the Danger Room back together."

"Not just that," Hank says. "Imagine on-the-fly adjustments to Cerebro, being able to fine-tune the metallic infrastructure of the neural transmission relays--"

"Whoa, hang on, he hasn't even _seen_ Cerebro yet," Angel points out. "We don't know if he'll even be able to deal with the lab. He's a Genosha survivor, he might not want anything to do with it..."

"Not to mention giving a guy we've known for _two days_ a free pass to screw around with Cerebro in a way that maybe only he can unmake?" Raven leaves the rest of her reservation unspoken, but it's a reasonable concern-- or it would be, Charles thinks, crossing his arms over his chest, if he hadn't been thoroughly involved in Erik's mind, sensing _so many things_ about him.

Erik's devotion to the cause of ending Shaw has made him uncompromising and often dangerous, and he thinks of himself as a weapon, everything unnecessary stripped away. But Charles knows Erik has kindness in him as well. As Erik learns how to connect with people again, extend faith and friendship again... Charles feels certain there's almost nothing Erik couldn't do. And nothing Charles wouldn't trust him with.

On the floor, Erik's closed nearly all the distance between himself and Darwin, and they're on to the next-to-last section of the obstacle course, the floor curving around the far end of the room and reorienting them toward the door-- and the flag.

Darwin groans the moment he spots the rubberized floor panels, recognizing them from past Danger Room exercises, but he dashes on gamely, stepping onto a panel and triggering it to lift a foot in the air. He jumps aside to another panel, and this one sinks a foot. Above, the first water cannon fires; Darwin vaults out of the sinkhole, and doesn't get so much as spritzed.

Observing Darwin's difficulties in the moments before joining him on the uneven floor, Erik senses the metal of the cannons overhead and begins breaking apart his shield of metal plates, using the pieces to stop up and divert the spigots.

The randomly lifting and lowering floor presents no more serious difficulty for Erik than it did for Darwin, and he has little trouble coordinating the movements of multiple pieces of his shield while getting himself across the uneven field of heaving floor plates.

Erik and Darwin are neck-and-neck now, and as they near the end of this section, Erik slows a fraction of a second, turning to ascertain just where Darwin is-- and he uses one of his last shield-bits to dump water on Darwin, who dodges but doesn't quite avoid it entirely, nearly half his shirt splashed and damp as he charges into the next section.

The floor here continues to be split into panels, but no more cushioning rubber. Now it's exposed metal, and some panels are visibly electrified, while a few more are invisibly charged the same way.

It looks ominous, but that's illusory, nothing worse than a static electric shock if it's touched. However, touching a charged plate triggers a water cannon, chucking water down from above or spraying from the wall. And the moment Darwin and Erik step onto this section, another laser array lights up, sweeping in a regular pattern over the plate. Interrupting them sets off more paintballs.

Hank devised this part of the course specifically to learn how Erik reacts to electricity, and Erik doesn't disappoint. He attunes at once to the feel of the electrified metal and begins to tear across the floor, easily avoiding the electified plates, hindered only by avoiding the lasers. As he reaches the end of the section, a mere step ahead of Darwin, Erik reaches up for a water cannon and uses his power to twist it, stepping on the electrified plate connected to it, sending the deluge pouring down on Darwin.

"Cheating!" Darwin yells, laughing, his skin adapting briefly to a slick texture that sheds all the water at once-- but he can't adapt his clothes dry, and he's still left dripping. "That was so totally cheating!"

"Why not play it the way I would outside a training course?" Erik returns, as they vie for the flag.

"Because then you'd have to face me down hand-to-hand," says Darwin.

Erik shows him a big, almost feral grin, easing quickly into a fighting stance, fully facing Darwin, knees bent, hands poised. Charles nearly doesn't need the mental connection with Erik to recognize the confrontational stance as Krav Maga.

Darwin smirks right back at Erik, identifying the stance as well. "Your funeral," he says, and mirrors Erik's position, adapting.

Whereupon Erik immediately buckles the metal floor beneath him and whips it under his feet like a magician pulling a tablecloth without disturbing the china resting on it. Darwin staggers a little, but that wasn't Erik's primary goal; it was merely a distraction. He's flinging the metal toward the flag.

Catching on, Darwin jumps after it, his legs instantly bulking with powerful springing muscles in response to his mind's focused urge. His arms grow longer and develop heightened strength, and he takes hold of the soaring metal sheet. Erik sacrifices part of the metal, tearing a smaller chunk of it off and sending it soaring to secure the flag.

"I guess that answers the question of whether he can work with the alloy!" Hank says, excited; Raven buries her face in her hand for a second, shaking her head, but then she's back to watching the course. Things still haven't been decided, even with the metal whipping around the flag and forming itself into a cylinder, yanking backward, past Darwin.

Darwin reacts quickly, spinning to face Erik again. "Nice," he says, smiling ear-to-ear. "But can you keep it?"

"Let's find out," Erik grins again in challenge, floating the cylinder with the flag above and behind him.

Darwin lunges at Erik, and Erik twists himself out of the way, catching hold of Darwin's wrist and leaping into the air, scissoring his legs around Darwin's waist and twisting. They hit the floor together, Darwin underneath Erik, arm outstretched and bent backward at an angle that would be painful for almost anyone else.

But Darwin's arm flexes, adapting easily to what should have been a joint lock, and he simply slips the hold Erik has on him, jerking up and rolling over.

Erik twists, unhooking his legs from Darwin's waist, coming to his feet again. Another man might have been taken aback by the motion of Darwin's arm, so unnatural that many would find it nauseating to watch. Erik, on the other hand, has genuine regard for Darwin's body and his talents-- or perhaps _regard_ is too light a word. Erik's admiration for Darwin's adaptation is getting stronger with every burst of motion in their fight.

"Okay, _damn,"_ Angel says, getting a little closer to the observation glass. "He's still not going to get by Darwin, but I'm _all_ about watching him try."

"It's not the best example of Erik's mutation," Hank says, a little mournfully.

"No?" Charles nods at the cylinder with the flag, still hovering steadily in midair, completely under Erik's control. "He's holding onto the flag in spite of distractions."

"You'd think he'd be clocking Darwin over the head with that," Raven says. "Or something else."

"They're in pretty tight quarters," Angel says. "Maybe his control isn't that fine. Or maybe he just didn't want to--" She pauses as Darwin comes in hard, throwing three lightning-fast body blows; even though Charles knows Darwin's pulling the punches as much as possible, Erik staggers back and goes down.

Darwin slams a forearm into Erik's neck, but again, he's not pressing as hard as he could, and Erik takes advantage, ripping plating off the wall, gathering up the plates he'd already pulled from the ceiling and the floor.

It's a lot of metal, just as Hank predicted, and as Charles watches in delight, Erik forms several of the plates into small round objects-- perfect spheres, but hollow and perforated, like a golf-ball-sized wiffleball. There's so little mass to them that even thrown with great force, they won't hurt Darwin, but in the space of a few seconds, Erik's made dozens.

He yanks them all forward, pelting Darwin with them, and Darwin's distracted enough to let Erik pull an arm free. Erik tags Darwin with a hard series of punches to the side, which dislodges Darwin, and the wiffleballs do the rest, shoving him off Erik by force. They're not hurting Darwin-- even as they move him, his skin's toughening so they bounce off him without doing any damage-- but when Erik collects them and starts whirling them around Darwin, they form an effective, relatively harm-free shield.

"The one guy in the place he doesn't really have to go easy on, and he makes wiffleballs," Angel points out. "He really is holding back."

"That or he's just warming up," Hank offers. "Take a look."

As Erik dances out of Darwin's range, some of the plates Erik hadn't yet reshaped almost seem to vanish, leaving behind a haze in the air. Angel squints. "Did he just disintegrate those?"

Hank's craning his head to the side, trying to get a better look at what's going on. "Needles," he says. "And-- _wow_ , that's a lot of them. Must be a couple thousand, easy; they're _tiny_. Does it look like he's losing any of them, can anybody tell?"

"We'd need your senses for that," Raven says. "Hopefully he'll be able to sweep them up after, or else Darwin's not the only one who'll get to play at being a mutant pincushion."

The haze-- thousands of tiny projectiles, yes, and none of them lost or missing; Charles can sense them through Erik, the tight control putting his trick with the coins and the fountain to shame-- moves forward, and through Erik's ears, Charles can hear a light buzzing sound as the army of needles surges forward for Darwin. Darwin barely even seems to notice. Erik's sense of metal tells Charles that Darwin's actually deflecting most of them. But where Darwin can adapt, his clothing can't; a lot of those needles stick into his shirt and his sweatpants.

Darwin takes a few steps forward and thrusts his hand into the whirling shield of wiffleballs, catching one, and as he and Erik grin at each other, the wiffleball dissolves into a whitish powder.

Hank stands bolt upright and looks over at Charles. "Was that--"

"Corrosion, yes, I believe Darwin's evolved a counter for this particular attack," Charles says.

"But that alloy-- adamantium doesn't oxidize, and do you know how hard it is to get titanium to corrode under ordinary circumstances? How can they be _rusting_? Maybe it's not actual rust--"

It is, though; Charles can feel the oxidation through Erik, a familiar sensation if not over a familiar timespan, let alone a familiar metal. Erik's as surprised as Hank, but Darwin just launches himself through the shield, any spheres he touches instantly dissipating.

Erik shoves the flag's cylinder high up in the air, well out of Darwin's reach unless he wants to evolve legs capable of a leap for it. As Darwin comes forward again, all those little needles embedded in his clothing show their real purpose. They twist in the fibers of Darwin's clothes, holding him back by the shirt and pants-- he could break free of them easily enough, if he's willing to strip himself naked to do it, and from the smirk playing over Erik's lips and lurking under his thoughts, Charles can see Erik wouldn't complain about that particular outcome.

Darwin pulls hard at his shirt, tries to reach back to graze his hand over the metal, but he can't quite reach it. "Oh, _come on,"_ he says. "In a real fight, believe me, modesty wouldn't be giving me any pause."

"In a real fight I would have come up with something a little more deadly than hollow spheres," Erik counters. "Do we call it a draw?"

"Still got fifty seconds," Darwin points out. "So--"

Instead of yanking himself forward against the needles' grip on him, Darwin launches himself backward, rolling back and landing on the needle-laced backs of his shirt and sweatpants. He's armored enough it doesn't hurt, and they dissolve into white rust immediately. Darwin regains his feet, launching himself at Erik's waist and bearing him down to the floor.

They grapple for most of the remaining time, Erik managing just barely to divert each new adaptation that Darwin presents, with a combination of Krav Maga and modified Tai Chi and judo moves. At last Erik twists, rolling Darwin over, catching Darwin's hand in his and pulling it around in a smaller, tighter joint lock, the kind that would make a normal human scream or tap out immediately.

Darwin just twists his arm underneath Erik's grip, ending with his hand holding Erik's wrist-- and from there, he muscles Erik onto his stomach, straddling him and pulling Erik's arm behind his back.

Unlike Darwin, Erik can't adapt out of a joint lock, and he has a moment's bright flare of pain as he struggles against the grip. Charles jerks forward, ready to stop that before it can get more serious-- if he can, if he can access Darwin's mind-- but Erik stops moving immediately, and the pain ceases. He slams his free hand down on the floor, tapping the ground hard twice.

"Did I get you?" Darwin asks; now even Darwin's breathing hard.

"Me, yes," Erik says, and the buzzer goes off, signaling the end of their eight minutes. "But the flag's mine."

Darwin looks up, and the cylinder with the flag waggles at him, as if giving him a cheeky little greeting. Darwin huffs out a laugh and lets Erik go, rolling off him and dropping to the floor, resting on his elbows. "Kind of a hollow victory! You were down for the count."

"I got what I was aiming for," Erik points out, winded. "That's no hollow victory as far as I'm concerned."

He kneels up, resting his hands on his knees as he catches his breath-- and with the fight over, Angel's not the only one admiring the view. Darwin's soaked to the waist and sprawled on the ground with his legs spread out wide, Erik's on his knees panting and wearing very little; it's an arresting sight.

Charles switches the PA on again. "You did well, both of you. Top marks. A draw in several senses. Erik took two paintball hits, both minor; Darwin took aboard a great deal of water, though you adapted to slough most of it off. Are you able to get your clothes dry?"

Wringing out his shirt theatrically, Darwin chuckles, "Nope. Seems like my body doesn't consider wet clothes a threat in a climate-controlled environment."

Erik looks up toward the control room, newly conscious of being watched. He reaches up and runs his hand through his hair, his chest flexing slightly as he moves. It's so obvious it ought to be crude, but it's also a thoroughly efficient gesture, slicking back a few disordered strands. «I'll see what I can do about the repairs. The rusted pieces might be a lost cause, though.»

«Worth it,» Charles tells him. «Entirely.»

Hank wraps up by taking a few more notes on his tablet, while Angel, Charles, and Raven make their way back down to the Danger Room. Angel unfurls her wings and goes up for the flag, still encased in its cylinder, and when she touches it, Erik seems to remember it's there. He releases his grip on it, and Angel floats back down, shaking the cylinder lightly. "Sealed," she says. "Want to open it up?"

Erik nods and gestures with a quick slicing motion, and the top of the cylinder comes off. It doesn't fall, though, merely floating, and Angel tips the cylinder so the flag slips out.

"All right. Two points for the flag capture," she laughs.

"Only two?" Erik asks in return, mock disappointment covering his face. Charles is more tempted to join him and kiss him than ever. To see that kind of teasing and joking from a man who came here entirely serious and single-minded, and to see it directed at one of his new teammates... it's more than heartwarming. It's a sign that Erik belongs here.

*

When all's said and done, Charles steers Erik and Darwin off to the men's locker room, Hank tagging along with his tablet still in hand. "How did the rust feel?" Hank asks. "Ashy, rough...?"

"You should shake it out of my clothes," Darwin says, pulling his shirt off and tossing it to Hank.

A few rust particles waft free of the fabric, and Hank catches the shirt carefully, only seeming to notice that it's wet with water and sweat afterwards. He tucks his tablet under an arm and carefully folds the shirt, back facing up, and he squints at the material.

"I'll get this under a microscope later," he says, opening an empty locker and placing the shirt on the top shelf. "That's a really specific adaptation, not to mention contradicting the known properties of adamantium-- I've sure never heard of it rusting. But it's useful! Imagine stopping bullets that way, you wouldn't have to worry about ricochets."

"Not real keen on being shot at, if it's all the same to everybody," Darwin says. "I did enough resuscitation experiments back in Luma."

"You know we're not going to do anything like that," Charles says. Erik could hardly fail to note the pointed tone-- pointed in his direction, he's sure, after their earlier exchange about guns and the firing range.

But Darwin's moving toward the showers, sitting down on a bench just in front of the towel rack and unlacing his shoes. He finishes undressing without a shred of modesty, takes a towel and a washcloth off the rack, and disappears around the corner. After a moment's hesitation, Erik does the same, leaving his tank top and gym shorts and jock strap on the bench and taking a towel and washcloth as well.

Charles's mind comes brushing against Erik's-- «Let's see, closet-- yes, there's a pair of track pants in here, that'll work-- oh, hell, none of these shirts will fit, sorry--» but by then Erik's in the shower, adjusting the temperature knobs with his power and tilting his head backwards into the spray.

"Nice job out there," Darwin says, nodding to Erik. "I've never had a first-timer fight me to a standstill before."

Erik nods in acknowledgement. "I've probably had a bit more practice than most. Not against someone as gifted as you..."

Darwin takes that in without any noticeable sign of ego, just lathering up a washcloth and running it down his chest. Erik can't help a quick glance at him any more than Darwin tries to avoid a similar look in Erik's direction, which actually makes Erik grin. Darwin smirks right back at him, and they finish with their showers and head for the entrance to the shower alcove, grabbing their towels from the hooks there and drying off.

Charles and Hank are back out by the lockers, Hank working on his tablet, Charles holding a pair of sweatpants for Erik. "We're going to need a rematch," Darwin says as he gets dressed, and as Erik tugs on the sweatpants, he flicks his eyes back to Darwin, nodding.

"I'd be glad to. That said, I'm still not entirely convinced this was a full test of my abilities," Erik says, avoiding Charles's gaze for the moment. Instead, he looks over at Hank, who, as he expected, seems interested.

"What else were you thinking?" Hank asks.

"Well, much as this might prepare me for a rainy night at an outdoor gymnastics facility, I'm surprised you didn't prepare for anything more realistic. You mentioned bullets..."

Hank's nodding, but Darwin crosses his arms over his chest, expression going dark, and Charles is already shaking his head. "What do you propose we do? Train using potentially lethal obstacles?"

"Acrobatics and general athletics aren't going to prepare someone for going into combat against an opponent who wants to see them dead," Erik insists. Charles remains unmoved, and Erik frowns. "You're aware that's what we're going to be facing when we confront Shaw. He and his people aren't going to line up neatly in front of an obstacle course."

There's that hint of mental contact, a light touch, and Erik nods brusquely, meeting Charles's eyes and opening himself to Charles's thoughts.

«If you don't mind, I suggest we take this conversation somewhere more private.»

«More private than inside our heads? That would be a trick, even for you.»

Charles smiles for a moment, but it vanishes quickly as he looks from Hank to Darwin. "If you'll excuse us," he says. "This way, please."

Erik follows Charles back upstairs, where they stop off in Erik's room. It's partly so he can dress, of course, but the moment Charles steps inside, Erik realizes there's more to this visit. He watches as Charles takes in the empty space where Erik's alarm clock was, the slightly-altered position of all the furniture. There are no scratches on the floor, but Erik has a feeling he didn't manage to move the dressers back precisely where they were.

He pushes all that aside as he finishes pulling new clothes on. "Is this where you'd like to talk?" he asks instead.

Charles's eyes skitter back to the bed, and Erik tugs at the collar on his turtleneck. "Maybe not here," Erik offers quietly. He reaches out with his ability and swings the door open again. "Not if you actually want to have a conversation, that is."

"There's the study," Charles begins, but when their eyes meet, Erik can tell Charles is thinking the same thing Erik is: the study, the chess game, last night, whether it'll still smell like sex... "Or not."

"At the rate we're going, we're going to run out of rooms that don't have... associated memories," Erik says dryly.

Charles breathes a little laugh. "I think we have a while yet. It's a big house. Outside?"

"Fine."

For all that Erik feels as though he's seen everything there is to see about the grounds, there are still ways Charles manages to surprise him. Out front, Charles walks him along a stone railing, stopping as a huge radio dish comes into view between the trees.

He's been aware of the dish, of course, could hardly fail to feel something as massive as that metallic structure, but it hadn't occurred to him that the view from the mansion could be--

"Stunning, isn't it?" Charles asks. Erik nods. "The contrast between the forest, the natural setting, and the machine--" He smiles up at Erik and leans back against the railing. "I thought you might appreciate it."

"Yes," Erik says softly, "thank you." But he quickly sobers, remembering what they're here to discuss. "I can only imagine what 'resuscitation experiments' were, at Luma..."

"Just what you're picturing," Charles says bluntly. "Not that Darwin's gone into detail about his own experiences, nor would I ask him to, but I've read enough reports from Luma to know what he was subjected to. That's not a sort of training we'll be putting anyone through here at the mansion, your interest in loaded weaponry notwithstanding."

"I'd never ask a Luma survivor to suffer through any sort of experiment, lethal or otherwise," Erik says, frowning. "But combat training is a different affair. Anyone who's actually planning to be a part of the confrontation needs to be prepared for the fact that we _will_ face guns, knives, offensive mutations... how do you train for situations where lethal encounters are inevitable?"

"I'd rather not think of fatalities as inevitable," Charles says flatly. Erik blinks at him in disbelief, and Charles sighs. "Because, for me, they aren't. I don't need to kill in order to protect myself. I am aware that others don't have the same luxury of choice, based on their abilities. But we _do_ train for the possibility of conflict here, and we've made a commitment to preferencing less-lethal tactics over the use of lethal force whenever possible."

" _Less_ -lethal...?"

"As has been pointed out to me on more than one occasion," Charles says, sounding a little weary, "nothing is ever guaranteed. Pepper spray, grappling maneuvers, tranquilizers, tasers-- they can all be used to kill, or can kill by accident. But it isn't their primary function, unlike-- say-- a gun, or a bomb, or a neurotoxin; if those don't kill the target, you're either using them incorrectly or a miracle's occurred."

"And mutations?" Erik lifts an eyebrow. "You can choose, even in the moment, whether to incapacitate or to kill. But even that must take a measure of control, surely. One wrong move, and someone has an aneurysm or a stroke." In fact, it's one of the most effective ways to assassinate a target from a distance Erik's ever conceived. Given Charles's range, something Erik saw him extend so effectively at the Hellfire Club, Charles could be flying 35,000 feet overhead in a passenger jet and take out a target from above. Erik has to force himself not to recoil; it's a horrifying thought.

"It's not as unfocused as all that," Charles defends. "I've had extensive practice; I know what I'm doing. And almost anyone with a potentially-lethal mutation could learn to use their gifts to incapacitate rather than kill. I have yet to find anyone whose mutation is--" he gestures extravagantly at his own neck, which draws Erik's eyes to the way his shirt is unbuttoned there. It reveals a tempting glimpse of skin, which Erik could easily bend his head down and lick. He wonders fleetingly if the distraction is deliberate as Charles goes on, "severing people's heads from their bodies, say."

Erik pulls himself together, not without effort. He shakes his head. "Try making that distinction when you're armed with a pipe wrench, the human in front of you is holding a gun, and your mutation is controlling metal." Erik crosses his arms over his chest, hip leaning against the stone railing. "Life isn't like the movies. You can't simply punch someone in the head and expect them to fall over unconscious for hours. Stunning someone hard enough to insure that they're not going to be a concern later requires an amount of force that may or may not be fatal to the average human, and I'm not going to worry about that decision in the moment, especially when someone's bearing down on me with a semiautomatic weapon."

Charles shakes his head impatiently. "There are any number of decisions that need to be made in the moment, and I agree, there are some things that can't be planned for. But many _can._ And here and now, in our particular conflict against Shaw-- bearing in mind what Darwin's told us about Alex, and the likelihood that there are others under Shaw's control as well-- we need to be aware of bystanders in this conflict as well as combatants. The better outcome in most cases is incapacitation, not death."

"The better outcome doesn't involve a permanent solution to threats? In the case of people like Shaw, leaving them alive simply means they'll continue to prey on other mutants." Erik's growing equally impatient, making an angry gesture to keep Charles from interrupting. "Obviously it's vital to identify and protect any mutants we can help, but leaving others alive to track us or recover a few moments later and harm us? It's irresponsible at the least."

"We aim for stealth on our missions," Charles points out. "Murder is conspicuous. If a conflict is mutant against mutant, where exactly do we hide the bodies so as not to raise questions about the method of their deaths? You might be able to forge a death by gunfire or blunt objects, but Angel's acid spit is harder to disguise."

It's a fair point, and much like Charles said about his own ability earlier, it's one Erik has always had the luxury not to consider. He grits his teeth but nods; rogue mutants are the last thing they want to leave evidence of. A band of mutants killing other mutants is the sort of horror story that might lead humans to attack mutant slaves. It could send nervous human parents running for juvenile facilities, looking for "protection" for their mutant children. And Erik knows all too well what that protection would be.

Though Erik's not deliberately projecting his thoughts, they're all too close to the surface. He's not surprised when Charles's expression turns sympathetic. Erik tightens his hold on his emotions, trying to push his memories of Genosha deeper, where they won't be so easily lifted. Charles backs away a step, too, putting a little physical distance between them to signal his respect for Erik's urge for mental distance.

Erik's half tempted to advance on Charles anyway; it's not the memories he's trying to avoid, it's the sympathy: unneeded, unwanted. He's _here_. He survived.

Charles has an impressive poker face, though, and when he starts speaking again, any hint of his reaction to Erik's memories is gone. He points out, "Most of the people we face during our missions are misguided by propaganda and fear. Personally, I won't permanently harm them if there's any way to avoid it. The point of training is to be prepared so that in the moment, we can handle threats optimally. And my definition of optimal is less-lethal."

 _Misguided._ Erik sets his teeth together and shakes his head. "Whatever you may think of your methods, your definition of optimal gives your enemy an advantage over you from the outset."

"And killing robs you of a potential resource," Charles answers. "If you murder the only person on site who knew where your target is, or the only person whose _living_ eye is necessary for a retinal scan to unlock a vault, you cost yourself, at the very least, time-- if not the success of the mission."

" _Dying_ puts rather a damper on the success of the mission as well," Erik shoots back. "It's all well and good to form a nonlethal strategy for rescuing a dozen young mutants from a juvenile facility, but if two of you walk in and only one walks out, try protecting those twelve people on your own."

Charles stares sharply at him, and Erik reels back. That was more than he meant to say, and these memories aren't ones he can look at as impassively as he can with Genosha.

The cascade of thoughts he throws up to distract himself and block those memories off are the first blinding ones he can drag up: a dozen lab experiments involving injections and different kinds of increasingly nauseating scans; the claustrophobia of the collar clamping onto his neck again when he'd had it removed all day in order to perform tests gauging the strength of his mutation; the red light glowing above his door during the three days of the rebellion at Genosha, his meals shoved in through the slot at the base of the door, no one answering when he asked for word of _Sebastian_ , of all people, as he yelled _at least tell me he's safe_.

Blinking hard, Charles winces and takes another step back, shaking his head. "I wasn't going to ask," he says roughly, "and I wasn't trying to look in. You don't have to project distractions, particularly not when they're memories that cause you pain."

Erik looks away, back to the satellite dish. «I'm sorry,» he ventures. «There are things I don't want to talk about...»

Taking a deep breath, Charles nods. «You don't have to share anything with me that you don't want to. As much as I've appreciated what you _have_ given me, this--» and he reaches up, fingers brushing his own temple, «is on your terms. I'll respect that. I'm not asking you for anything more than you're comfortable with.»

Erik nods. «Thank you.» He sighs, eyes closing for a moment. "I don't think this argument is new to either one of us."

"It certainly isn't to me," Charles says quietly. "I had this conversation with Angel years ago. I won't take a life, but I can afford to hold that principle because I don't have to, in order to protect myself. Angel had misgivings like yours. A mutation to spit acid offers limited choices. Burn enemies superficially and risk provoking them, or attempt something more likely to work-- and more likely to be permanent. Believe me, we talked it out and my ideals took a beating."

"You still talk about optimal outcomes and _less-lethal_ methods--"

"I would never ask anyone to hold back if they feel threatened, but we plan our missions carefully to avoid situations that force our hand." Erik's cynicism must be clear on his face, because Charles continues, "With myself and Darwin in the lead of an assault, we can incapacitate rather than kill without taking on additional risk."

Both of Erik's hands tighten into fists. Worse and worse. "You talk about hesitating when someone has a knife at your throat or a gun to your head, and then you add that you're going to be _leading_ assaults like these. If you're looking for arguments that will put me on your side, that's not one of them."

"Erik..." Charles starts to reach out, frowns, and lets his hand fall back to his side. "It's been a long, long time since anyone could get close enough to me to put a knife to my throat. I have a rare advantage, the ability to incapacitate _with certainty_ in a combat situation-- to leave opponents alive in case I need them later, leave them alive so we can go in and out undetected. I'd be foolish _not_ to use that."

It takes a few moments for Erik to make up his mind to do this, but he closes the distance between them, settles his hands on Charles's shoulders. "You have an incredible ability, and it gives you the option to protect yourself in ways most of us can't," he says quietly. "But you're also the only one of us who doesn't need to be face-to-face with an enemy to fight them. When the time comes to face Shaw once and for all, I'd rather have you far enough away you can't be harmed."

Charles doesn't back away or break contact, but he frowns up at Erik, unmoving. "Absolutely not. If I'm at a distance, I have to exert additional effort to read multiple minds in order to track the situation. Why would I put myself at an unnecessary disadvantage? I need to be there myself to be able to act effectively moment-to-moment and devote all my ability to responding then and there."

Tempted to shake Charles, as if that would knock sense into him, Erik instead pulls his hands off Charles's shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest. "Additional effort. Unnecessary disadvantages. How we manage to speak the same language and arrive at completely different ends, I have no idea. Think about this, Charles. If we're all constantly holding back, we have to exert additional effort to calculate _how much_ to hold back, and what sort of force the situation requires." Charles sets his jaw, but Erik soldiers on, even if it means they're taking a step back in this fight. "You're asking why you should put yourself at an unnecessary disadvantage, and I've been asking why the rest of us should have to. In both cases my objection comes from the same place: I want you away from the fight to protect you from harm, and I want the rest of us to have our shackles off so we don't have to think about our enemies' lives above our own. They certainly aren't going to be doing that for us."

"I'm not asking you, or anyone, to do that. I won't second-guess anyone who believes they have to kill to stay safe." Charles's mouth tightens. "I won't ask. Much as I'd like to think my voice of reason rings loud throughout the resistance, the fact is, most of them can't hold anything back. It's possible for me to _know_ when people really believe killing was necessary and when they just-- do it, and people who do the latter, I've personally tried to avoid working with." His certainty falters a little. "But even that, I've had to compromise for the cause. I lost this battle a long time ago."

Quietly, Erik regards Charles, thinking back. There have been a lot of lives lost over the time Erik's been free; any number of people Erik wasn't afraid to end permanently in order to get closer to Shaw or ensure his own safety. Was it necessary every time? Even Erik can't answer that.

"I wonder," he says slowly, "if we're going to have to have this conversation again if I need to kill someone in order to protect _you_."

"We're going to take every precaution to ensure we're never in that situation," Charles insists. Studying Erik, though, his expression softens; he reaches out, one hand sliding up Erik's arm. "But... no. Whatever you believe is necessary, I'll trust your judgement."

"You won't like it," Erik fills in. "But you'll trust me."

Charles nods. He hesitates before going on; when he does, he winces slightly but steels himself anyway, as if knowing he's going to say something Erik doesn't want to hear. "I've been over the practical reasons. But in all honesty... it _is_ a principle. I don't believe in causing unnecessary death. It surprises me every time I have to defend that."

Torn between continuing to argue the point and trying to find common ground, Erik sighs and leans over the railing, resting his forearms on the stone. Charles steps a little closer to him, waiting him out; Erik draws a little closer to Charles in thought, reaching out to Charles's mind for reassurance. Charles gives it quickly enough to seem eager, and Erik can feel the warmth of Charles's presence soaking into his mind, a comfort not unlike having a hand on his shoulder or an arm around his waist. He sighs.

"Unnecessary killing... nominally, I think we agree on that," Erik admits. "But our threshold for _necessary_ may differ." He glances over at Charles. "I suppose in an ideal world, you'd like to see Shaw incarcerated instead of dead."

"Erik--"

Erik turns and meets Charles's eyes. «I think I deserve an answer.»

Charles steadies himself and holds that gaze, and nods. "In an ideal world, I'd like to see him brought to justice, yes."

"And our world is anything but ideal," Erik says quietly. "The human authorities _knew_ what Shaw was doing at Genosha, and it wasn't enough to see him in prison then. I want to bring Shaw to justice, too-- as well as anyone else who's been doing what he's done. But human law offers no protection and no safety to a mutant. We can't leave it up to them. We need our own brand of justice."

"I wish I could disagree with you," Charles murmurs. "I don't trust human institutions any more than you do. I have a little more hope, but that doesn't mean I can't see reality for what it is. I simply draw a line at summary executions; surely that's not unreasonable."

"If only it were that simple." Erik sighs. "I don't consider defending myself or the people--" he stumbles, biting his tongue at _people I care about_ , "--who are relying on me... I don't consider those summary executions. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." He glances away again; _you_. He doesn't mean the whole group of Xavier Institute mutants, much though he already knows he'll do what it takes to keep them all safe.

He can't stay away from Charles; not now, not when he's making Charles a promise like this. He reaches out, one hand curving over Charles's cheek. _This isn't going to be Genosha. This isn't going to be Lake Walcott._ "I won't let anything happen to you. Not if it's in my power to stop it."

For a moment, Charles simply brushes his face against Erik's hand, closing his eyes as if he's soaking up the affection Erik's offering. "I appreciate that," he murmurs. When he looks up at Erik again, he gives Erik a small smile. "I don't intend to let anything happen to me, either." More seriously, he says, "Or you, or any of us. I'm the last person you need to worry about."

"You'd think," Erik says, humor falling flat. Already he feels more for Charles than he would ever have imagined; already he's seeing Charles's life as the kind of priority it used to take years to develop. They've barely had a weekend together, let alone years to get to know one another, and Erik tries to remind himself of that as he slips his hand away from Charles's face.

"None of this is simple, I understand that," Charles says. "And I know it won't be easy to learn how to work with a team. But you're not alone." He meets Erik's eyes, intently focused-- and as much as Erik knew he meant _Charles_ and not the team as a whole, here and now he can feel the connection between the two of them: Charles offering up himself, not just the resources of his team. "Erik... you're _not alone_."

It's too much, just that slightest bit too much. Erik draws away from Charles, turning back to face the satellite dish. They only have two weeks, and maybe it's better that way. He's never going to live up to whatever expectations Charles has for him; he's never going to see Charles's side of this. But for now he nods, not wanting to waste any more of their time arguing.

"I'm not the only one who has allies, as you pointed out to me when we first met. Shaw's surrounded himself with powerful mutants. He always did," Erik adds bitterly.

"Shaw's surrounded himself with powerful mutants," Charles agrees gently, hands flat and relaxed on the stone railing, "who may be with him because he's lied to them. Or because they've been coerced. These are people who, if they knew the truth, might be on our side."

Erik can feel that Charles is trying to step carefully around that, but it's still too much. He reaches deep into the ground, the sub-basements beneath the grass and the patios, feeling for the comforting, unyielding structure of all that metal. It's paradoxical that holding the weight of all that hard, cold, rigid metal should make Erik feel as free as it does, but being able to press against it, tug at it, even lightly and with no intent to damage, reminds him that he's still got full access to his ability, that no one is holding him here against his will.

A few moments later, Charles offers a quiet, "I'm sorry." And Erik releases his grip on the sub-basements only to turn on Charles, snarling.

"I don't need your sympathy. I need Shaw _dead._ That's where it ends for me." He doesn't miss the way Charles flinches, and he gathers himself together, trying to focus on the mission and not the man. "If there's anyone else he's still controlling, I'll help you get them out. I can't promise to leave them intact if they're a threat to us, but I'll do what I can."

"Thank you."

Erik stands upright, running his hands through his hair, stretching his neck and then blowing out a breath as he keeps working to center himself. "Is there something else I could be working on? I'm not very comfortable being idle."

Charles reaches out, his hand on the small of Erik's back. Erik sinks into that touch before he can stop himself, and although he probably ought to chide himself for being soft, he can't. Not now.

"Let's go upstairs." Charles draws him away from the railing and back toward the house. "We still need to get you that list of assets. We can do that directly if you're still willing, or take the long way."

"I don't think my mind is anywhere you'd want to be right now," Erik says flatly. "We'd probably be better off with the long way."

"It's up to you, of course," Charles says, guiding Erik inside and starting up a broad wood-paneled staircase. "But don't hold back on my account. I'd want to connect with your mind regardless of what you're thinking." His hand catches Erik's and clasps it briefly as he passes to take the lead; he looks back and catches Erik's eye. "Nothing about you frightens me."

Charles reaches the landing a step or two ahead, pivoting to take the next flight; Erik looks up at him. "You haven't known me very long."

"Not by the clock, no," Charles allows. "But 'at first sight' means something different for me than it does for most people."

Erik's still a step behind Charles, and he feels like that's true for his mind as well as his body, thoughts stumbling over themselves as he tries to keep up. _At first sight?_ The first time they met, Erik was Charles's _slave_ for the night; _what did that teach you about me?_

All of that is a deflection from the heart of it, though, which is that Erik has known Charles for only a short time-- days that seem like some of the most vivid of his life, that have left him feeling challenged and confident and angry... and _close_ , intimate with Charles in a way he's had little opportunity to be with anyone else.

And for that, if nothing else, Erik owes Charles the truth. "It seems like longer to me, too."

Charles scarcely glances his way as Erik catches up; he nods in what seems like understanding until he says, "I'm told it's like that, with the--" he gestures, his fingers nearing his temple in a shadow of the motion he uses when his telepathy is at its most active. "Of course I don't know what it's like _not_ to have that, so it doesn't seem odd to me, to know someone well right away."

Erik falls back another pace, but this time he forces himself to catch up, covering any reaction with as much of a smile as he can manage. It's _absurd_ to let himself think of this as something unique to the two of them. Erik doesn't have the experience to recognize the difference between genuine connection and simple infatuation. _And you've had years of being wrong in the past,_ Erik reminds himself, _years, while who knows how many people have felt this way about Charles._

"There's also," Erik says, looking Charles over thoroughly, "the fact that we met under... intimate circumstances."

"To say the least," Charles says, meeting Erik's warm gaze with one of his own. As they reach the third-floor landing, Charles turns, facing Erik more directly. "I don't think I properly thanked you for this morning." He smiles, broad and bright, and for a moment it feels like Erik's the only other person in the world; no wonder Charles leaves Erik a little weak. "I'm not sure I _could_ ," he goes on. "That was… unique. Exhilarating."

Now there's some ground Erik can meet Charles on honestly. Charles certainly has every reason to believe he knows Erik well in _that_ way. Few have known Erik better. Erik isn't going to argue that, isn't going to avoid it. He's going to take his two weeks and ride out every last second of them. It doesn't matter if this is real or if it's fleeting or if he's suspicious of Charles. In two weeks, none of this will matter. _Shaw_ won't matter. He'll be moving on; finally, permanently able to move on.

Erik reaches out and sweeps Charles's hair back from his brow. "I recall a few promises you made this morning, things we'll have to follow up on when we have a chance..."

He's rewarded with another sunny smile, and Charles comes closer, slipping his hands onto Erik's hips. "I'm looking forward to it," Charles murmurs. "I'm sure we'll have chances to steal an hour or two for ourselves here and there." He tilts his head up to bump a little kiss against Erik's lips-- right here in the hallway, where anyone could come across them.

It's thrilling to have Charles demonstrate that much attraction, even as Erik reminds himself that it could mean anything or nothing; Erik catches Charles by the nape of his neck, kissing him a little more intently. Charles responds by sliding his hands up Erik's chest and moving his head to afford a deeper kiss, sighing into it, his thoughts slipping into Erik's head. «As delightful as this morning was, there's nothing like your hands on me.»

«Then we'll have to find a few hours to explore that,» Erik thinks. He scratches lightly at the back of Charles's neck, remembering last night's chess game and after... his hand on both of them, the frantic pace leaving them rutting on the floor. He gathers up as much detail as he can and then sends the memory to Charles, smiling against Charles's lips. «Explore it further, that is.»

There's a soft intake of air as Charles draws back and inhales. «You really are _astoundingly_ gifted at projection,» he sends, the words trailing off into another kiss. This one is more demanding, Charles's hands on Erik's head, and Charles draws Erik down so Charles has full access to his mouth.

If Charles wants to take the kiss over, Erik's not inclined to struggle. He could tell himself it's simply because Charles has one of the most extraordinarily talented tongues he's ever had the luxury of tasting, and he wants more of that; it wouldn't be a lie.

But Erik's tired of bracing for this to fall into pieces, to be made up of lies and manipulations meant to lure Erik into abandon. He can _choose_ this; he doesn't need to be lured. For two weeks, he can have this, and he curls his arms around Charles's waist, pulling him in close and offering up as much as Charles wants to take.

*

Erik's mouth feels delightful on Charles's, but it's the sense of surrender that makes Charles dig his nails into Erik's shoulder, deepen the kiss that much further. He'd wondered how Erik might accept another public display of affection-- well, sort of public; they're on the staircase, more or less alone, and while Charles can feel the bubbles of others he's blocking nearby, none of them are right here on the landing right now. It appears the answer is _quite well_. More and more, Erik's fitting into Charles's life-- life at the mansion, rather, with his newfound connections and his intriguing, powerful mutation.

And his mouth and hands and body, pressed tightly against Charles's, offering so much with every kiss. He deserves Charles's entire attention; Charles blocks out everything else as thoroughly as he's able, just for a second. He can never close himself off completely, but he can ease off his habitual scan of the estate, withdraw his focus into himself, give himself over to here and now, this moment, this one mind.

Charles draws away for a moment just to hear Erik panting softly, and then dives back in for another long, lewd kiss. Maybe moving to another room is a good idea...

A better idea than he'd realized, because there's a disgusted sound and the feel of one of those bubbles nearly colliding with him, and Charles breaks away from Erik as Raven almost barrels into the two of them. "Oh, for crying out loud, Charles, seriously? The middle of the freaking hall."

Erik takes another step back from Charles, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth as his spine straightens. Charles gives his body a quick mental command, controlling the physical signs of his arousal; he can't do the same for Erik, not without permission, but now hardly seems the time to ask.

Fortunately-- or unfortunately-- Raven's attention is entirely on Charles, as she goes on mentally. «And didn't you sense me coming? Are you trying to piss me off with this, now?»

«You came down quickly!» Charles says, not that it's much of an excuse. He flicks his eyes briefly to Erik, trying not to get stuck looking at his mouth, already slightly swollen from the kisses Charles was giving him. «And my attention was rather focused elsewhere.»

Raven crosses her arms over her chest. «Awesome. Along with everything else that makes this a bad idea, he's distracting you.»

«You're the one who keeps telling me that I don't have to be on guard every minute of the day, and urging me to relax,» Charles points out weakly; it's a bit of a stretch, but it really is all he's got.

«I meant take a bubble bath!» Raven fires back, equally unimpressed with his argument. «Not screw around with the spooky new guy!»

Instantly, the idea of dragging Erik into a bubble bath occurs to Charles; he wonders how often Erik's gotten to indulge in that sort of relaxation, not on orders or to fulfill someone else's fantasy, but simply to enjoy himself. Erik seems to treat almost everything in his life as a means to an end, this one end, _Shaw's_ end. Charles hasn't forgotten his saying _I need Shaw dead; that's where it ends for me_ ; he hopes by the time they've settled matters with Shaw, Erik will have found more purpose than that.

 _Almost_ everything is a means to an end for Erik, Charles reminds himself, but not everything: he thinks of this morning, Erik's shower. For all of Raven's suspicion of the man, Charles has been in his head. He knows Erik was using sex with Charles as a way to distract himself from unpleasant memories, but he also knows that once they were tangled up together and Charles was using his gift to drive Erik against the tiles, Erik wasn't thinking about anything but him.

He's a little more firm when he tells Raven, «I thought we'd agreed to détente on this topic.»

Rolling her eyes-- and not for the first time this conversation-- Raven sends, «We did until I almost tripped over your tongues. I did _not_ need to know that you do porn-star kissing. Use your powers for good, wipe that memory for me.»

By now the silence has lasted a few seconds. Mental conversations can go much more quickly than speaking, especially when both parties are as familiar with telepathy as Charles and Raven are and have the kind of rapport they do. Still, Erik's picked up on the pause or the tension, because he sends, «I'm assuming I don't want to know...»

«You assume correctly,» Charles confirms. Out loud, he adds, "Let's move to the study hall, it's just this way. Excuse us, Raven."

«No excuse for you,» Raven sends, in a mockery of sweetness. "Sure! Bye!" she says aloud, making Erik raise an eyebrow at her. She shakes her head, grimacing as she continues down the stairs.

The study hall is empty this time of day, huge and almost cavernous. Charles draws Erik over to a table near a window, one with a view of the satellite dish through the woods, and Erik looks out briefly, smiling at it again. He glances back to the door for a moment, and rather than speaking aloud, continues with projection; maybe he's concerned about Raven overhearing. «You know, when I first met her, I did apologize for encroaching on her territory.» He raises an eyebrow at Charles. «I begin to wonder if I didn't apologize quite enough.»

Charles sighs as he takes a seat across from Erik. «Growing up, all we had was each other. She's protective.» Ruefully, he admits, «I probably wouldn't behave any better, if I weren't completely assured that Hank adores her and would do anything for her.»

Erik nods at that; his eyes go distant for a moment, and Charles can see him putting a few pieces of the Xavier Mansion puzzle together. It's a little strange having to see him do that, hearing him ask these sorts of questions. It really is starting to seem as though he's always been a part of Charles's life, as if he'd been a missing piece of that puzzle himself, til now.

But they'll have time for all of that when this is over. When they've finished dealing with Shaw, they'll have time enough for Erik to really make a home here, for Erik to win Raven over, for encounters that don't seem like stolen moments.

Erik leans back in his chair and nods at Charles. "We've got some information to cover," he says. "Let's get started."

*

Sketching out the available resources at the mansion takes even longer than Charles had expected; a few times during the conversation, he's tempted to ask Erik if he's really certain he doesn't want Charles to skip ahead after all. He's taken information easily enough in the past, even insisting on it this morning. But for whatever reason, right now he seems unsettled by the idea of mental contact, having avoided it since he was certain Raven was out of earshot.

If nothing else, that aftereffect of the interruption chafes. Erik's deeply permissive attitude toward Charles's telepathy is such a rare pleasure. Even though Charles is deliberately holding back from reading him most of the time, the fact that Erik continues to welcome it surprises Charles over and over.

More than welcoming it, Erik's begun taking the initiative on his own, projecting shared pleasure and his own past experiences-- and even if not all of what he's shared with Charles has been positive, that clear and deliberate mental communication is distinctly satisfying, his ability to project so intriguing. It's impossible not to think about all the things they'll be able to do, given time and opportunity.

But at the moment they're short on both. Charles suppresses his annoyance at this waste of the hours, laboring their way through the list of talents and assets when he could give it all to Erik in a few moments. It's not a waste if this is how Erik wants it, he reminds himself. Even if he looks at it with his most ruthlessly practical view, it's still not a waste: it's an investment in keeping Erik comfortable by showing respect for his wishes.

"What about this one?" asks Erik. "Douglas. He can translate any language and break any code; that's useful for infiltration and espionage."

"He's not suited to field work," Charles answers. "He was at Stryker's; they injected him with experimental nanobots. Hank deactivated them, but they've left Doug a bit unstable."

"Stryker's," Erik says darkly. "I'm glad my mother didn't live to see that place. With the technological research they do, they'd have torn her apart for her mutation."

It's such a fraught topic that Erik nearly shimmers with rage and grief; Charles can't help his sympathy. Or his curiosity. The woman from Erik's memories earlier today, while he was crossing the balance beam... her hand on the metal beneath him... he struggles, trying to decide whether to ask or not, and finally says simply, "I'm sorry," reaching a hand out to cover Erik's. He can ask later.

Erik looks down at Charles's hand as though he can't imagine why it's there, and for several long moments Charles is tempted to take it back. But after a while, Erik turns his hand over and lets Charles clasp it, and Erik murmurs, "So am I."

He squeezes Charles's hand and then draws away, looking at another file. "I'm surprised you don't have her working in the field already," he says, tapping his fingertip against another mutant's photo.

"Keya?" Charles asks, startled. "She's our landscape artist, keeps up the gardens and the greenhouse, and she's done wonders with repairing any damage to the grounds from construction. We've had her help with some of the security out in the woods, strengthening the bramble patches, keeping an eye on animal tracks in case of any unknown shapeshifters."

Erik nods at that with some approval, but he's still looking over Keya's file. "All good uses," he says. "But what she can do could be enormously powerful for offense, too. Increasing plant growth at hundreds of times the normal rate? Full control over the health or sickness of plants around her? Imagine what that could to to a building."

"If it has houseplants, I suppose," Charles says uncertainly, frowning. "I'm afraid the places we go aren't exactly known for their horticultural exhibits--"

Impatient now, Erik simply shakes his head. "You're not thinking big enough," he says. "Roots. Nature versus concrete is a battle nature wins every time. Even heavily-reinforced structures would be subject to damage from tree roots, if there were trees near enough by."

"There usually aren't," Charles points out. "Even here-- as much as the woods disturb you, those trees wouldn't spread their root systems this far no matter how old they became."

"How many acorns can you fit in a pocket?" Erik fires back. "Destabilizing structural elements is a process that would normally take decades. She could do it overnight." He sits back, gazing briefly off into the distance. "For that matter, imagine the possibilities of tunneling with root systems; she could make something large enough to walk through, and who alarms the _exteriors_ of their sublevels? Even Genosha didn't do that."

"Yes, well." Charles gathers up Keya's file and moves on to the next. "I think if you'd like Keya to join us on missions, you'll need to get through Angel."

"Angel?" Erik asks, momentarily confused. "You couldn't just ask Keya directly?"

"I could, but if anything were to happen to Keya, acid spit is only the first thing Angel would hit me with." Charles smiles. "Keya is Angel's lover, and Angel is more than a little protective of her."

"Ah." Erik lifts an eyebrow. "You're not suggesting that it's untenable to send people who are sexually involved out on missions together..."

"Not at all," Charles says quickly; Erik's remark about keeping Charles well away from the final confrontation with Shaw is still fresh in Charles's mind. "But Keya's never shown an interest in fieldwork, and I'm not inclined to steer people in that direction unless they approach me about it first."

"It probably costs you time. Progress."

"But it doesn't cost me people," Charles says gently. "And that's more important to me."

Erik gives Charles an abrupt nod, and they return their attention to the files. A few more names are brought up, and Charles has to admit Erik has quite the eye for potential within people's mutations; it only makes Charles sad that the potential Erik sees is all about combat, usefulness when it comes to fighting back against the humans. Maybe it's simply been too long since Erik's had anywhere to call home; so many of the mutants here have flourished in a place where they could explore their mutations for the sheer joy of discovery, not as a means to an end.

When Erik finally excuses himself for dinner, Charles nods and turns to watch him go. In spite of the way they repeatedly butted heads when it came to different mutants' abilities, Erik smiles briefly at him from the doorway before stepping out into the hall. Charles turns his mind to the rest of the mansion, touching base with Suhail, with Hank, with Angel, and he gives a light, apologetic sweep across the surface of Raven's thoughts, receiving a disgruntled but understanding mental nod in return.

A bit absently, Charles makes his way back to the study, intent on gathering up some of Hank's notes on Cerebro-- there's a session coming up tonight, and Hank's had some ideas for minor tweaks to the system that might help Charles zero in on Shaw's telepath.

It would be helpful if they had a name, of course, but if Angel's roadblocked on that point, it would probably take an exhausting amount of mental digging to find more. If he could find Quested again, perhaps he could search his mind more thoroughly and draw a name out of him to go along with the telepath's reportedly amazing body, but there's no guarantee he'll be able to find the whirlwind-controlling mutant, either.

Back in the study, the low-level glow of all the minds around him turns and whirls, all those blocked minds going about their business. Charles can't help knowing where everyone is-- the flipside of blocking minds is that it's a deliberate action, one he can't take without an awareness of who he's blocking and where they are-- and he notices Erik's presence near Darwin's, both of them in the kitchen. They're there for a while, the length of a meal at least, and eventually move on together, heading for the garage.

Charles's gaze flicks to the chessboard, still paused mid-game; one of his rooks has been captured. He thinks back to the position of the pieces and realizes that Erik must have made that move just after their encounter here, and he slips out of his chair and walks to the chessboard, following that move of Erik's with an aggressive attack of his own, a bishop coming out into the contested center of the board.

Tempted as he is to send Erik a quick thought that it's now his move, Charles goes back to his computer instead, trying to focus on the files Hank's sent him. Hank may prefer his tablet for everything from email and music and video to DNA calculations and Cerebro simulations, but there are times Charles misses the feel of paper under his hands. Nevertheless, he perserveres, making his way through the report on the simulations and then mentally sending his approval to Hank.

«Oh, hey, good,» Hank projects back at him. «Did you see the stuff I've been working on with regards to electromagnetism? We really need to get Erik into a room with scanning equipment, I need to know how his magnetism works on different objects.» Hank pauses for a moment. «Do you know anything about how he got his collar off? Because if he can affect microcircuitry, that would be _really_ useful.»

Charles hesitates; of course he knows how Erik got his collar off-- in fact, he knows precisely how it was accomplished, because he was the one using Erik's power to do it. Neither one of them has the familiarity with microcircuitry that Hank does, though, so while Erik and Charles might have been largely guessing, guided by Erik's instinctive understanding of the metal pathways, Hank would be able to determine Erik's abilities and potential with authority.

But the moment was a little too intimate to share with Hank wholesale, and so Charles does his best to divorce the memories from their context, narrowing the focus down until all that's left is the use of Erik's power, the way Erik guided Charles from circuit to circuit, showing the repairs that would have been necessary in order to get it functioning again-- and Erik's certainty that he could do it-- as well as the eventual step-by-step removal of the collar. That, he bundles and sends.

For a few seconds Hank's silent, and then he projects, «Whoa.»

«Whoa?» Charles responds, a little amused, perhaps a little chagrined; it wasn't possible to separate the moment wholly from its context, it would still have been obvious that Charles was using Erik's power through Erik. Reluctant as he was to give that away-- even the people who have been at the mansion for years are still a little unnerved by the extent of Charles's abilities-- it would have added a confusing layer, trying to pretend all the sensations were things he'd been reading from Erik instead of experiencing them firsthand. For the sort of detailed work they're going to be doing, it's vital that Hank gets things as unfiltered as possible.

«That's finer-grade control than I thought he'd have, and that was you, not him. No offense to your capabilities--»

«None taken, of course...»

«--but you were doing... that... for-- I assume it was the first time, you hadn't been, uh, practicing...»

«No, that was the first time he shared his ability with me.» Well, first time, so long as one doesn't count Charles taking Erik's belt off with his power, but that hardly seems relevant.

«Right. So imagine that sort of control on an even greater scale. There's going to be so much we can do with this--»

«--but only if he agrees. No pressure,» Charles thinks gently. «We need him to see Cerebro first. I don't want to mislead him or hide what exactly we'd be using his abilities for.»

Hank pauses, but Charles can hear a mental nod. «Bring him to tonight's test session? It'll only be fifteen minutes.»

«I'll invite him, yes. That's a good idea.»

«Great. Oh, hey... whatever happened to that collar? Usually, the ones we have, when I deactivate them I have to burn out the circuit boards. If he can get them off intact, that'd be a tactical advantage for the fight, don't you think? If we could just collar other mutants instead of having to counter their abilities?»

It's a good idea, and Charles nods, about to answer-- suddenly realizing that he doesn't actually know what became of Erik's Hellfire collar-- but then Charles receives the sensation of Raven's lips, gently moving against Hank's, and jerks quickly back from the conversation. He can't back away fast enough to avoid the feeling of a hand ruffling through Hank's hair, and an affectionate tweak of his nose-- but once it's clear things aren't going any further, Charles relaxes, opening himself to the connection with Hank again. A warm emotion radiates all the way through Hank-- along with, _gah, went back too soon_ , an appreciative stare at Raven's backside as she walks out of the lab, her hips swaying.

«A little warning next time!» Charles thinks quickly, shaking his head and wishing he could blink those thoughts out of his skull.

«What? Oh, sorry, I mean, she's been here for ten minutes, I thought you knew!» Hank gives a little mental shrug. «Anyway, she's on her way to you, she was here bringing me a sandwich. Did you have dinner?»

Charles actually takes stock of his body after that question, realizing only now that he's been working for two solid hours, and that was after Erik left for dinner. «I'll see you tonight at the lab,» Charles answers, and he disengages carefully from Hank, looking around the room with his _eyes_ to blot out that view of Raven's bottom, seen through the eyes of her lover instead of her brother.

As he's looking, a pawn advances on the chessboard. Charles gratefully takes up the distraction, moving over to the armchair and quickly advancing a pawn of his own. He reaches to the row of captured pieces at the side of the board and takes up a knight, rubbing his thumb down the angular silver line of the stylized horse's head. If Erik can feel that, though, he doesn't send any thoughts along to confirm it. But maybe he's still a little telepathy-shy. Charles can always ask later.

Another piece moves, another pawn. Charles doesn't normally play speed chess, but the temptation to connect with Erik this way is very alluring, and since there's no way of knowing when Erik will pause, Charles rushes through his next move, realizing only too late that he's left his queen totally unguarded. A rook swoops in to capture it, putting Charles's king in check.

The door to Charles's study swings open, and Raven walks in. "I know you haven't eaten, so come on, you're not doing Cerebro on an empty stomach."

"Yes, just a moment--" Charles draws a knight between Erik's rook and his own king, defending it, but it's a terrible backslide; Erik almost certainly has this game well in hand.

Raven steps over to Charles, sliding an arm around his waist. "That old thing," she says, but she sounds pleased. "I didn't realize you were back to playing chess these days."

"I--" Charles is interrupted by the rook on the board moving, sliding away from the far edge of the board and taking up an aggressive position in the center. "I've been playing with Erik," he finishes.

Raven's grip around Charles's waist has grown a little tighter. "You're playing telepathic chess? Seriously, could you pry yourself out of his brain if you tried?"

"I'm not connected to him telepathically right now," Charles says. "This is Erik's power in action." Charles consults the board and frowns; there don't appear to be many good options at this stage. He's lost his queen, he's down a bishop and a rook and a few pawns. At least he still has both knights on the board, but he's never been as effective with them as he'd like. He captures one of Erik's pawns with one of his own and sets the pawn aside. In response, Erik pushes a pawn forward, attacking Charles's knight with it.

"Wait," Raven says. "Wait, you're telling me he's got enough control over metal that he can play chess from-- where is he exactly?"

It takes Charles only a moment to find him, starting with the last place he looked, and he smiles when he finds Erik and Darwin, still together. "He's in the garage with Darwin. Probably having a look at Darwin's Ducati."

"That's some pretty fine-grained control," Raven points out. "Don't start carrying one of those pieces around with you or anything."

"What, why not?" Charles looks over at Raven, frowning.

"Well, if he can tell the difference between pawns from a good half a mile away, he could probably track you with one if you're holding onto it, too."

"That would be a fascinating application of his ability, if it's true," Charles smiles. "I'll have to ask him about that."

Raven rolls her eyes. "You are _hopeless,"_ she says, pulling away from him. "I mean, I've seen you in a honeymoon phase with somebody now and then, but this is getting kind of ridiculous, don't you think?"

Charles frowns. "I don't think 'honeymoon phase' is an accurate description--" But even as he's saying it, he can't help thinking over the first morning Erik spent here, the first night, the shower, the satisfaction he got from seeing Erik's marks, worn proudly and in public, and then that kiss on the stairs... but still, 'honeymoon' is a wholly inappropriate way to describe it. It implies uncomplicated, optimistic passion, and Erik is anything but uncomplicated.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Because making out on the stairs is totally a part of your usual approach with standoffish, scary-looking mutants you bring home from Hellfire. And can you please, please dig up some actual gym clothes for him? I really don't need to know place-by-place where you like biting him, for real."

"It'll be taken care of before the next Danger Room session," Charles promises with a sigh. "I still think you're overreacting--"

"You do, huh." Raven taps a fingernail on the chessboard. "You have a few hours to yourself before Cerebro, and what are you doing? Are you assembling material on the mutants you're trying to find tonight? Are you looking over your notes on the last few resistance meetings? Or are you playing chess with your new boyfriend?"

"In point of fact, I'm doing all three."

Raven lets out an exasperated sigh. "Look, I get it, okay? I get that Erik's powerful, and he has some important information on mutants who attack other mutants, and on top of all that he's apparently sex on legs. But we need to know more about him than just what he's like in bed. And spending his whole two weeks here with your tongue down his throat isn't going to help us take down Shaw."

"It's not as though we won't have more than enough time to hear the rest of his story when Shaw's no longer a factor," Charles points out. The skeptical look Raven gives him makes him glance away, but he's back to looking her in the eyes a few moments later. "And we _are_ making progress-- Angel has a good start on intel, Sage has been tracking Shaw through his history with AGM. You know how much time I'm putting in. And Erik's training practically twelve hours a day. What more do you want from him?"

Whether she doesn't have a pat answer for that, or whether she simply hasn't decided if giving him the pat answer is a good idea or not, Raven hesitates, and Charles jumps in, barrelling on. "You've seen how he's getting along here. Better than I expected, given everything. He's making friends, not just allies." Charles comes forward, that quick brush of permission to make contact asked and granted, and puts both hands on Raven's shoulders. "Eight years in Genosha, and the last decade alone until now, nothing but revenge on his mind. We've met more tangled individuals--"

"--some of whom we couldn't help," Raven points out gently.

"I don't think Erik is one of them."

Raven sighs and looks away, finally reaching out and putting her hand on Charles's cheek. "I hope you're right," she admits, grudgingly. "But if not--"

"If not, then I'll have had two weeks," Charles says quietly. He tries flashing her a grin. "You have to admit, it's been a while since someone lasted that long."

Mistake, though, because she glares at him. "Yeah, a while," she fires back. "Wasn't the last one Wallace? Look how that turned out."

"Peter and I are still-- friendly," Charles says, "and that was different."

Raven shakes her head, pulling away from him. "It better be. If I have to scrape you off the floor when Erik leaves, I'm taking a chunk out of his ass before he goes."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Charles says, but he frowns back down at the chessboard, focusing on the game instead of looking at her. His poker face is good, but Raven's ability to read people is better.

He moves his knight out of harm's way, and waits for another move, but Raven tugs at his sleeve impatiently. "Come on," she says, " _dinner_. As in food. As in, don't make me come back here with a hoagie and hand-feed you, because we both know that can't end well."

"Fine." Charles steps away from the chessboard, finally. "Fine. You win. Let's find some food, and then I'll go and retrieve Erik so he can have a look at Cerebro before tonight's test session."

"Just the test, huh? You don't want him around for the longer one?" Raven crosses her arms over her chest and lifts an eyebrow. "I mean, that's a whole hour and a half you'll have to be apart. All that lost opportunity for him to watch you stare into space. He'd probably be riveted."

"Is that a metal pun?" Charles asks lightly. "'Riveted'?"

Raven just rolls her eyes. "Let's hope he doesn't mind labs," she says, but she winces at Charles's quelling expression. "Okay, yeah, that was kind of petty. Sorry about that."

"I hope he doesn't mind labs, too," Charles says, though after this afternoon's series of images he can't be sure about that.

A bishop lifts and moves across the board as they're going, but Charles leaves his pieces where they are. There'll be time to finish the game later.

*

Darwin's Ducati is a thing of beauty, streetfighter-style with most of its underlying machinery deliberately made visible. The sheer amount of gleaming, naked metal is enough to make Erik whistle, long and low. Darwin laughs and claps Erik on the back. "Go on, touch it if you want." He grins. "Or, you know, if it feels better--" He imitates Erik's splayed-finger position, what he used to reach out for metal on the obstacle course.

It's too much to resist; Erik reaches forward with both hands, power thrumming underneath his skin, and gets a feel for the entire bike, all the bronze and steel and aluminum that makes up the model. There are always bits and pieces of any vehicle Erik can't reach, and he frowns at the front fender. "Carbon fiber?"

"Good eye-- or whatever," Darwin says, smiling. "But I thought carbon fiber was organic."

"It is. I can't feel it, that's why I was guessing." Erik lifts the motorcycle off the ground an inch or two-- less than four hundred pounds, easily light enough he could pilot it home with little more than his power. He's done that before, times when riding was more complicated than his body could handle, or when he was too high on the sense of accomplishing something toward his goal _not_ to use his ability. "It's lovely."

"I sure think so. If we want to take a ride sometime, I've got dibs on the Ducati, but over here's the Yamaha--" He tugs the cover off another motorcycle, and Erik holds back a grunt. It's actually a more appealing motorcycle, from Erik's standpoint: as sexy as the Ducati is, the Yamaha is almost entirely aluminum and titanium, very little organic material to interfere with Erik's sense of the machine. It's a more traditional racing bike, with a blue fairing covering the outside, and even just sensing it without lifting it, Erik can tell it's a lighter vehicle than the Ducati.

Less muscle, more sleek; Erik sweeps his hand through the air and draws the Yamaha off the ground, imagining what it would be like riding it. He's not aware of how much he's smiling until Darwin laughs, "Okay, so the Yamaha's not a downgrade for you."

"Not at all. I'd love to take a ride with you sometime."

"We'll make the time. How're you holding up? Busy day. And it started kind of rough. Forks flying around and all."

"Come again?"

"This morning," Darwin makes an apologetic face. "The only thing outside your room that moved as far as we know was a fork in Hank's next door. You stuck it to the wall for a minute there. It didn't hurt anything."

"I'm fine now," Erik says. Darwin caught him on his way down to the kitchen and offered to join him for dinner, which turned out to be a casual meal with just the two of them. Small talk about hobbies led to Darwin offering to show Erik his motorcycles, and on their way to the garage-- which is a twelve-car garage currently holding nine cars and four motorcycles; the excess of this place hasn't yet ceased to amaze Erik-- Erik sent his awareness back to the study, feeling out the chessboard.

His power's been used for a lot of things, since he was a child; testing to see whether he could retain fine control from this distance was his main priority, when he first reached out for the chessboard. But once he realized Charles had actually moved a piece, he let his attention fade away from Darwin a bit more often, making moves and feeling for the board to see if Charles had taken a turn as well.

A third distant look gets Darwin's attention, and as Darwin draws the cover back over the Yamaha, he raises his eyebrows. "Checking in with Charles?"

"Not exactly," Erik says. "We have a chess game in progress."

"Telepathic chess?"

Erik hesitates, before deciding that if anyone's aware of his capabilities now, it's Darwin. "Not exactly. I can feel the chessboard in his study from here; I'm moving the pieces and checking the board after Charles makes a move."

"He finally found somebody to play chess with," Darwin laughs. "That's great."

Pausing again, Erik says, "I didn't realize he'd been looking."

"Yeah, I wouldn't call it a serious hunt, but I know he likes the game. He and I played a couple of times. Stalemates, both of them."

"Your mutation lets you adapt to chess strategy?"

"Crazy, huh?" Darwin shakes his head. "Of all the things I thought I'd be doing with it, chess didn't even make the list." His eyes go a little distant this time, and he shakes his head. "It's a hell of a lot better testing my abilities here than it ever was at Luma."

"I don't doubt it." Erik rubs a hand over his cheek as they start heading back to the mansion. "I appreciate your tact, by the way, when it came to the obstacle course."

Darwin doesn't even try to pretend at confusion, which is a relief. "Everybody's interested in what you can bring to the table," he says. "Coin tosses are great and all, but when somebody new comes along... to be honest, usually Charles just reads them for what they can do, and for the most part it's something simple. This guy makes things cold. That girl shoots sparks out of her fingertips. Another guy heals fast. I was more complicated, because Charles can't read me for much, and my power's pretty variable. You..." Darwin looks Erik over. "If you think about it, magnetism as a mutation might have a hell of a lot of reach."

"I've thought about it," Erik says. "I've been reaching all night-- the study, the chessboard--"

Darwin shakes his head. "Range, sure, but Hank was chattering about bringing you in on Cerebro. Have you thought about that?"

"I don't know enough about it to form an opinion," Erik admits. "Should I be interested?"

"I'll be honest. The machine wigs me out. I can handle going into the lab at this point, but I haven't actually seen Charles use Cerebro, haven't done any work with it myself. It's one thing my mutation doesn't seem to be all that great for, and that's fine by me." Darwin shakes his head. "I don't want to put you off it, though. I'm touchy about that shit, but there's no reason you'd have to be."

Erik winces, nodding. "I understand. I shouldn't have any trouble with the lab."

"Cerebro's pretty rough on Charles," Darwin says quietly. "Are you going to have any trouble with that?"

The silence probably does plenty to answer Darwin's question. Erik sets his shoulders and stares straight ahead, still walking at the same steady clip. "What are you really asking me?"

"Right now I'm _really_ asking you if you think you can handle Cerebro," Darwin says. He looks over at Erik. "But if I were asking something else..."

"Then what would it be?"

"I'd wonder if you'd thought about what you're going to do when our two weeks are up and Shaw's taken care of."

Another person who doesn't use the word _dead_ for what's going to happen to Shaw. At this point, Erik's starting to wonder if he'll have to wade through his allies in order to get to Shaw. He hopes not. "Not really," Erik admits. "I could look for other mutants who are preying on their own kind, I suppose. Tear into more labs."

"With here as your home base?" Darwin gestures at the mansion; Erik holds the door for Darwin with his power once they arrive.

"Twelve children," Erik says calmly. "My ability isn't usually subtle. No, I don't think that's a good idea."

Darwin squints at him. "Okay," he says, finally. "Good luck." Before Erik can do more than raise an eyebrow, Darwin adds, "With Cerebro. I hope you're right, you don't need it, but... good luck, anyway."

"Thank you."

As they round a corner and emerge into a long hallway, Charles steps into view. "Erik! I was just looking for you."

There are any number of reasons Charles might have been looking for him, some pleasant and some less so, but Charles's expression suggests something serious rather than playful. Erik's not sure whether to be disappointed by that or not. "Darwin was showing me his motorcycles."

"Mm." Charles nods, and then he nods at Darwin. "I haven't forgotten what we talked about earlier, I promise. I'll have an eye out."

"Thanks," Darwin murmurs. "I'll catch you later. Same goes for you," he says, squeezing Erik's shoulder before continuing down the hall.

"I believe it's your move," Erik says, glancing meaningfully up in the direction of the study. "Care to make it?"

Charles smiles. "After, maybe." His expression grows a little more serious. "Hank and I were planning a short test session with Cerebro tonight, before we get started on a longer one. If you'd like to see the machine, now would be a good time to stop by. Are you willing?"

"Of course." Erik nods. "Lead the way."

It's not a tour, not even an unofficial or casual tour, but Erik still has the opportunity to see parts of the mansion he's never seen before. Charles leads the way down long hallway after long hallway; this place really does seem intended to house dozens, the layout is so suited toclassrooms and dormitories. And yet Erik can see all the wood and fittings date back to the original house. Maybe the ancestral Xaviers were Catholic. Charles does have a sort of altar boy quality about him, despite his enthusiasm and inventiveness in the bedroom.

"It's down through the labs and then up again. Cerebro itself is where the stables used to be." Charles pauses as they approach a door that looks the same as any other. "Erik. We've made attempts to avoid anything that would stir bad memories for our residents, but some things can't be helped; it is essentially still a laboratory. Even if we go the long way over ground to the stables, Cerebro itself is housed in a lab installation. If it would bother you--"

"I'm fine," Erik says shortly.

"I'm sorry, but..." Erik wonders if he's thinking about their conversation from earlier, the images Erik used to cover his distress over Lake Walcott. He frowns as Charles goes on, "I know that's not true."

"I'm fine with labs," Erik snaps. "I've had plenty of... exposure therapy, you could call it. I couldn't get at the main buildings, but going back a few years ago and demolishing the annex at Genosha was," he can't help smiling grimly, "cathartic."

"That was you," Charles says in wonder. He sobers right away when Erik looks at him. "I'm sorry, it's just... that was such good news, when we heard about it. I was so sure whoever did it couldn't have survived."

"Because if he did, he would've taken the whole place down?"

"Because it hardly seemed possible anyone had got near it, let alone succeeded in destroying any part of it." He shakes his head. "You really are astonishing."

"You've read my mind; how could you not know about that?"

"For the most part, I've read what you were thinking as you thought it. More requires-- focus, effort, and it... to me it feels like more of a trespass." Charles smiles at him. "I don't have to read you now, I can see from your face that you think that's absurd. But reading immediate thoughts comes so easily that it feels natural. I don't _feel_ as if I'm intruding. Those surface thoughts and feelings are just," Charles opens his hand, " _there._ It's an effort to block them. But as far as your memories go, generally I've only glimpsed the ones that you've actively thought about while I was reading you. And, well," Charles's smile grows softer, "a few more this morning, when you let me."

Erik's glad it's just the two of them, here in the hall; for all that he's coming to crave the feel of Charles inside his head, for all that Charles's voice in his mind is one of the most erotic experiences he's ever been given, it's still difficult to face the idea that he's given Charles so much of himself so quickly. Let alone for the purposes they've been putting that telepathy to. It would be one thing if it were all about efficiency, passing Charles information about Shaw, but purely for selfish pleasure...

Charles is already straightening up, moving away, but Erik reaches out, fast enough or surprising enough to cause Charles to startle. His eyes go wide when Erik cups the back of his neck in one hand... and then he melts into the touch, smiling broadly at Erik, tilting his head up for the kiss he knows is coming. Erik delivers; he presses his mouth to Charles's, all his better instincts vanishing under the need for this: this man, this touch, this exploration of power and ability.

«You can explore anything you want,» Charles tells him, both his hands sliding up Erik's chest to his shoulders. «Anything at all-- just tell me what you'd like me to do...»

Erik doesn't have an answer for that, and doesn't try to search for one; instead, he shifts his hand into Charles's hair and pushes Charles against the door, deepening the kiss. They can't spend all day at this, probably should have stopped already, but one more kiss, one more before Erik lets Charles go, just one...

He backs away, breath a little quickened, and he licks his lips as he looks at Charles. Charles is bright-eyed, lips reddened, hair a bit tousled... it would be so easy to lose himself in this man, if he hasn't already.

"Show me," Erik says, and when Charles's eyebrows shoot up, Erik shakes his head and pushes all his thoughts of Charles aside. There are more important things; he left Hellfire with Charles because he believed he could find help with those things, he's learning to work with these people in support of his goal. "Show me Cerebro," Erik says firmly. Charles exhales, nodding, and he turns and opens the door.

*

«We're on our way out to you,» Charles sends.

«Okay,» Hank answers, minimizing his vacuole simulations for now. «How much does Erik know?»

«Just what you've mentioned. And that it's still a lab, despite occasional redecorating efforts.» Charles sends a hint of humor with that. He and Hank both enjoy the classic lab trappings of white walls and polished surfaces, Charles because it has few negative associations for him and plenty of positive ones from his time at Oxford, and Hank because being in charge of a lab environment makes him feel more in control of himself and his past than anything else ever has.

They've tried to let people change things, paint walls and put up posters, but nothing sticks. There's a reason labs look the way they do.

Unfortunately, there are a lot of good reasons why labs have a lot of metal, too, and even though Hank's been trying all day to come up with ways to Erik-proof the Cerebro lab, there's just not much he can do about that. He's put all the loose metal things in drawers, but seeing Erik tear plating off the Danger Room walls taught him that most precautions are inadequate to the kind of power Erik can deploy.

Hank asks, «How did he take that? Is he going to be okay in here?»

«It will be fine, Hank,» Charles assures him. Hank can't help noticing that's not a direct answer.

When Charles arrives with Erik and they step into the carriage house, Erik looks around, quickly taking in the lab. Hank's trying not to stare, but he's so curious what exactly Erik's looking at, what he's trying to search for. The tables and tools, the cabinets, the instruments out and available for easy access and everything Hank's put away-- nothing vibrates, nothing moves, but Erik nods, flicking a glance over at Charles. Charles rests a careful hand on Erik's shoulder and then squeezes. Probably not a calming maneuver Hank can replicate once Charles is occupied.

"Well," Erik says. "I'm here."

"Yes," Hank says, trying not to stammer, "yes, that's great. Thanks for coming out. We've got a little time before we get into the heart of Cerebro--" he looks at Charles, who gives him a mental nod, _okay, ease into it_ , "so if you have any questions...?"

"Perhaps you could tell him a little about your research," Charles suggests gently. He glances to Erik, who raises an eyebrow; Hank gives half his attention back to his tablet as Charles lights up, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. "It's all been extremely exciting-- having a colleague like Hank here is such a gift. Since he's been here, Hank's been making significant advances on an almost weekly basis."

"That's probably stretching it," Hank cuts in. "And you're still involved in the research, I picked up a lot from you when I got here--"

"True, but you're the one who's really able to carry it forward." Charles turns to Erik again. "Sometimes I think what could _really_ change the world is more private scholarship-- there's so much research being done on mutations every day, but so little of it done _by_ us, _for_ us. If a generation of mutant scientists could get a foothold in academia, in the scientific community--"

"Somehow I don't think a quiet scientific revolution is going to quell human fears of being mind-controlled or blasted into oblivion by their neighbors," Erik says dryly.

But Charles is on a roll now, and Erik's skepticism is nothing Charles hasn't seen before. "What I'd always wanted to bring across to the general population is that mutation is nothing new. So many common traits are mutations-- heterochromia--"

"People who have different-colored eyes," Hank fills in. Erik eyes him, but not with too much overt hostility; Hank lifts a hand apologetically and goes back to his tablet.

"Mutated MC1R genes," Charles continues. "Red or auburn hair. Dimples. Baldness. Blue eyes; the evidence suggests that all blue-eyed people probably descended from a single mutant ancestor. For that matter, it's not as though humans are the only ones with mutations-- look at polydactyl cats, cats have all sorts of fascinating mutations, heterochromia is common in white cats--"

"We had a lab cat for a while," Hank offers, "but she went off with one of the mutants we, ah, liberated from Hellfire a while back. She was a Scottish fold."

"The mutant?"

"No, the cat," Hank corrects quickly, "although the mutant himself was Scottish. I think. I guess Charles would know--"

"The point being," Charles interrupts, "that mutation is the key to our evolution." His voice has gone a little soft now, and the smile on his face is one Hank's seen him turn on an awful lot of mutants who come around the lab. His record is a dismal 4-16, as far as Hank can remember; even Hank knows better than to try to use genetics research as an attempt at courtship. Well, he knows that _now_.

But for all of Erik's skepticism, he's listening to Charles's spiel and seems to be more or less paying attention. "Mutation took us from single-celled organisms to being the dominant form of reproductive life on this planet," Charles continues. "Infinite forms of variation with each generation, all through..." he reaches up and strokes his fingertip down the side of Erik's neck, and then up to Erik's temple, "mutation."

The moment stretches on, and Hank finally clears his throat. "Mutation isn't just about the X-Factor gene," he says. Erik turns the weight of his attention fully on Hank, which is still disconcerting, but they don't have all night; Charles's new 5-16 record is really something that doesn't need to be celebrated in Hank's lab. "Obviously it's not as simple as that, or we'd all have the same extranormal abilities. Some of the variations result from alleles that don't produce obvious phenotypic differences--" Charles gives a tiny shake of his head and Hank simplifies. "Anyway. Our primary genetic difference iterates through our physiology in a lot of ways. One thing all mutants have in common is a difference in our brain chemistry. We have a neurochemical, and a corresponding synaptic receptor, that baseline humans don't have-- a neurotransmitter, supplamine."

"Right," says Charles. "The level of supplamine in the brain appears to roughly correlate with the amount of control we have over our gifts. Of course it's very hard to get a solid read on this sort of thing, since everyone is different, but the body seems to generate more supplamine the more we exercise our mutant abilities."

"So mutants who've been allowed, or, uh, forced--" Hank looks away frowning, "to use their abilities more, tend to have more control. That's been borne out by our anecdotal experience here at the school. Generally, people who've been collared all their lives have the lowest levels of supplamine, and the most trouble controlling their powers once they're free. If we could synthesize supplamine, or come up with a drug that prompts the body to create more of it, then in theory, everyone who got the treatment would find it easier to use their powers."

"I take it this neurotransmitter is increasingly common knowledge," Erik says. "Shaw's research in the 1990s had little to do with neurochemistry, it was far more straightforward, but from Angel's notes and Darwin's experiences, he seems to have--" he makes a face, "branched out."

"I wouldn't say it's common knowledge," Hank tells him, scratching at the back of his neck, "but within the scientific community, the idea's been catching on for a while, yeah. And enough people publish their research publicly that I doubt Shaw's had any difficulty keeping up-to-date."

"If we had a list of mutants who have gone missing from facilities under the auspices of requiring 'intensive care', perhaps we could cross-reference their abilities and see if there's a pattern-- if Shaw's trying to find mutants with high levels of supplamine," Erik suggests, raising an eyebrow at Charles.

Charles frowns. "From what Darwin could recall of Luma, it doesn't quite follow. But you're right, we should check." His fingers lift to his temple, a moment's concentration, and he's done. "There. Sage is on it, we'll see what she can assemble for us."

Nodding, Erik regards Charles a little more carefully. "You must have more of this in your system than anyone," he says. "Since you've always been free."

"Not me," Charles says. "Raven."

"Raven has the most supplamine of anyone we've ever come across," Hank agrees. "It might be because she's camouflaged herself most of every day since she was a kid, but we can't be sure, because Raven's physiology is unique in a lot of ways. Her aging process has actually slowed down gradually over time; we're pretty sure she's twenty-eight, but going by her telomeres and other genetic markers, in most ways her body hasn't really aged beyond nineteen."

Erik's expression goes a little stony. Hank's not sure what that look means, and if Charles is keeping out of Erik's mind the way he does with everyone else, he probably doesn't either. Maybe it's better not to ask.

Charles brings everyone back to the topic at hand with, "Apart from Cerebro, creating a synthetic form of supplamine is Hank's primary research project."

"And yours," Hank puts in.

"And how long has it been since I've put in any time in the lab?" Charles sighs. "I'm afraid my role in the work has become advisory, at best."

"Yeah, but all the time," says Hank. He taps into Charles's expertise on a daily basis-- plus everything he knows about genetics came from Charles in the first place. What Hank hates most about the way things are-- okay, top of the list, he hates the misery it causes people, but in a long term sense, what galls him most is the waste.

Hank never even knew until he came here that he's intelligent-- a genius, according to Charles, who'd know if anyone would. But he spent the first eighteen years of his life barely educated, all that time wasted. At least now he can really use his brain. A lot of people here-- even here, even in this refuge where people can learn to breathe again and where education is supposedly the name of the game-- are still being wasted. As free as they are, no one's quite free enough to live up to their full potential. A lot of resources, and worse, a lot of _time_ , are just outright being lost to the weight and cost of maintaining cover. Charles is scarily smart himself, and his abilities are incredible. A year after Hank arrived here, Charles spent a few days giving him everything Charles knew about genetics-- Hank, the lab monkey, gaining the equivalent of a doctorate from _Oxford,_ right there in his head like he went there himself.

He wonders what kind of education Erik has had; he spent eight years in Genosha, and then close to ten free. That means he probably spent most of his youth in Genosha, and Hank can't imagine they have a four-star science program for the inmates. If things had been different, maybe Erik would have been here, helping Hank and Charles build Cerebro from the ground up. But there's no reason they can't get his input and his ability involved now. He's been giving extensive input on their security protocols. That means he's got an eye for detail and experience in breaking down systems. It'll be like having a troubleshooter who can actually bend electromagnetic fields; that's something Hank _has_ to see at work.

But first they need to get through this test, because if Erik's not going to be comfortable with Cerebro at all, it's important to find that out now, rather than finding out with Charles's brain online.

Erik glances from Hank to Charles and sets his shoulders. "Much as I appreciate the care you're both taking to ensure I don't run screaming from your machine, I think we've stalled long enough, don't you?"

Hank pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nods. Charles gives Erik a slightly rueful look, as though he's surprised at being caught out, but if Erik's ready, then he's ready.

Gathering up his tablet, Hank gestures toward the back door. Through the hall and up a short flight of stairs, they enter the installation, and as Hank moves to the bank of computers and equipment, he realizes Erik's still at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at Cerebro itself-- well, what most people think of as Cerebro. Really the guts are built into the structure and the machinery and the computer banks, but the large helmet that rests on Charles's head is Cerebro's "brain", the interface that makes everything else possible.

Hank shoots a look at Charles. «Is he still all right?»

«Anyone would be curious,» Charles points out. «He's not moving anything around.»

It's true; Hank can't see any minute shifts in the metal objects around the room, can't hear any metal bending or flexing. When Erik's conscious, he must have a lot more control over his ability, even when subject to distressing conditions. Comforting; they really can't afford to have any unexpected glitches in the system, not on the level Erik could bring to bear.

"So, ah," Hank says, "what Cerebro actually _does_ is amplify the user's brainwaves. A normal human--"

"Any non-psychic, human or mutant," Charles clarifies.

"--right, anyone without psychic abilities is better off not even trying to use it; there's a lot of psychic feedback, and it can cause migraines or worse. But telepaths can use it to extend their abilities and do a number of things at range that could normally only be done within a much smaller radius, such as searching for other mutants or communicating with multiple minds."

"Telepaths?" Erik asks. "Or just Charles."

"We've let a few others with psychic ability try it, but even at minimal levels, no one's been able to handle Cerebro for more than a few minutes. Which is too bad," Hank says, "because it's--"

"It's part of what we use to communicate with other cells in the resistance," Charles steps in, which is not what Hank was going to say, but Charles sends Hank a quick «He already knows it's tiring, we don't need to belabor the point,» as explanation. "Useful. But the system expands my range; it doesn't necessarily boost my abilities otherwise." He smiles. "I can only do so many things at once, even with Cerebro."

"I can only imagine," Erik says. He settles back, arms at his sides, tense but steady, still taking in the details of Cerebro and the room itself.

«You might as well start getting ready,» Charles says. «I don't think more small talk is going to help.»

Fine by Hank. He heads to his computer banks and loads the program for the new sequence, leaving Erik to Charles. «I hope this works out.»

«So do I.»

*

Erik's been trying to pay attention to the more technical aspects of Cerebro, but now that he's here, almost all his focus is on the machine itself. Cerebro hangs above a raised steel-floored dais which is corralled with a semi-circle of hollow aluminum railings. The visible part of the device is a large helmet, wired into the wall with long steel cables.

Beneath it, a vinyl-upholstered slab stands at an incline, with a footrest and a short padded bar on either side at thigh level. It probably began as an examining table mounted upright, slanted to allow the subject to lean back and rest much of his weight against it.

As Hank continues working at the computer banks, Erik turns to Charles. "Why not a chair?" He's seen setups like this intended to handle the possibility that an experiment might cause the subject to lose bowel or bladder control, but there's no drainage on the platform.

"I find this more comfortable," Charles replies.

That's an ominous statement if Erik's ever heard one. He frowns, looking at the railing again. If Charles were actually to pitch forward away from the vinyl slab, certainly the railings would catch him. It wouldn't be very pleasant, with their sharp edges and thin slats. He doubts there's any reason for the railing to be shaped as it is other than the simplicity of molding aluminum into that particular form, but he'll ask about that later, round off the edges only if Charles says it won't interfere with anything.

Hank clears his throat. "We're all set and ready to go."

"Thank you, Hank. Let me just walk with Erik back to the house and I'll be right with you."

"I need an escort?" Erik asks.

"No, of course you can go back alone if you'd rather."

"I thought I was here to look at this thing." Erik folds his arms. "If you intend to ask me to work with it, I think I should get to see it in action."

Erik feels that first questioning little brush, the mental tap of Charles seeking permission. As Erik jerks his chin in a nod, Charles sends, «I'm concerned that this might be distressing for you, considering your past experiences.»

«Why?» Erik answers acidly, «Is he going to slip a dozen needles under your skin and tell you to draw them out one at a time? Blindfold you and withhold food until you can describe the metallic composition of the alloy in your mouth?»

Charles looks down; whether to acknowledge or avoid Erik's memories, Erik isn't sure. «No, of course not. I'll stand over there and bring the apparatus down over my head, that's all there is to it. In use, it looks like nothing so much as an old-fashioned hair dryer. I may appear to be affected, but I hardly feel anything while I'm using it.»

"I think I can cope."

"I don't doubt it," Charles says, following the cue to switch to speech, "but you don't have to. And apart from anything else, this will be boring. Fifteen minutes of testing, a break, and then an hour and a half for the regular session. I really will just be standing there."

"I'll stay for the test," Erik insists.

"All right," Charles says, and steps up onto the platform. Settling back against the upright cot, he pulls the wired metal helmet down, a soft glow bathing his features from LEDs around the rim. He takes hold of the padded handles on either side. "Ready."

Hank hesitates. "Um..."

"In your own time," Charles tells him, and clamps his jaw shut.

Pushing his spectacles up his nose nervously, the boy nods and turns to his computer, starting the test.

The lights brighten on Cerebro's hood, and Charles stiffens, his whole body galvanized, the handles compressing in his grip. His eyes stare forward, round and wide and sightless.

Erik rests his own hand on the railing, feeling the resonance of the material under his palm, fighting the urge to turn and shake young McCoy until he shuts this machine off.

«I'm fine,» Charles tells him. The sense of him in Erik's head is more distant than before, yet somehow amplified too, as though he's speaking through a megaphone from a long way off. «Would you like to see?»

«See...?»

«What this is like for me.»

Erik casts another disgusted look at the lit-up machine, at Charles under it, lips parted, his chest moving with deep, forcibly regular breaths.

Despite his revulsion, he says, «Show me.»

The space around him seems to spread open anew, but now rather than feeling steel and aluminum, copper and iron, instead he feels minds. Each one a humming presence, a beehive with a million thoughts moving inside, distinct but unified into one whole.

His own mind, in a disorienting moment of refracted self-reflection; Hank's mind, active and eager and beautiful to Charles's sight. Others in the house, Ferrin, Julie, the much-loved familiar sense of Raven, Geoff, Darwin, Belinda, Laura, Doug, Paula-Suhail-Ramsey-Keya-Angel-Sage-Hector-Susie-Maria-Gabe-Carl-Ramona _too many_ , too much, Erik is overloaded and that's only some of the minds on the estate, already more than he can compass. Meanwhile the world is opening up and up, bigger by the moment, humans in houses a mile away, further, hundreds of minds, thousands, Charles's awareness spreading to the horizon and beyond.

«Look,» Charles reverberates in his head, «all this, so far, so many. I'm so much better than fine.» The quality of the thought changes, broadens. «Hank, give me another twenty percent to the array.»

More territory suddenly lights up in the distance, beckoning, and a spike of pain flares in Erik's head; almost in the same instant, the world reforms around him, bounded in metal and power, not in people.

«Sorry,» comes from Charles. «I should've realized that would be overdoing it, but you're able to share so much more than anyone else ever has... are you all right?»

The first wave of headache ebbs away quickly, and coming back to himself, Erik is unsurprised to find the aluminum rail is crumpled like paper in his hands. He warps it back into shape and smooths it again, rounding off the sharp edges while he's reshaping it anyway. Fuck it. Hank glances repeatedly over at him, wide-eyed, but he keeps most of his attention on the monitors, where it belongs.

«I'm all right,» he projects to Charles. «Just concentrate on what you're doing.»

For the remaining ten minutes of the test, Erik stands stubbornly watching. Charles remains transfixed, white-knuckled, jaw clenched, staring off into a distance only he can see.

"Okay, shutting down ten percent at a time," says Hank. "And... that's ninety. Eighty." His eyes fly between Charles and his computer screen. "Seventy."

With each number, Charles relaxes a little, and when the machine turns off entirely, he sags in place, knees going loose. He braces himself up on the handles, breath heaving even more slowly and deeply than during his... trance, or whatever that was. It wasn't just the light from the helmet; he looks washed out, which is saying something, considering how pale Charles is ordinarily.

"Good work, Hank," says Charles. "The augmentations have definitely had an effect. I had significantly more success reading mutants with activated suppression collars."

"But you didn't find the other telepath?" Hank leans over the table balancing on hands curled under, shifting his weight back and forth restlessly.

"No. I'm sorry," Charles looks to Erik. "Hank and I tried several adjustments, but even with the boosts, I can't seem to find them. I can't even sense her blocking me, there's just nothing."

It's hard to hear, but worse is seeing Charles's agitation. He looks more unhappy than Erik expected, as if finding Shaw's telepath means as much to Charles as it does to Erik. Maybe it's just that he's not accustomed to meeting someone on his own psychic territory; maybe there's a bit of ego involved in rooting her out, discovering where she's hiding... even countering her, from here, now. But if he can't find her at all, there's no chance for that.

They may have to meet her for the first time during the final confrontation with Shaw. Not ideal, but Erik had expected that from the outset; they'll adjust their plans accordingly. And there are still two weeks to try again.

Not that that idea fills Erik with particular pleasure, not when Charles looks the way he does. «Are _you_ all right,» he begins, but after the conversation they had earlier on the staircase-- it still stings to think of himself as only one of many people who have known Charles as intimately as Erik now does, his emotions influenced by such quick knowledge of one another-- perhaps that sort of concern isn't something Charles would truly welcome from him. He sets his jaw and nods, sticking to the topic at hand. "We'll handle her. There are other ways besides that contraption."

Charles tries to suppress a frown, but doesn't quite manage to conceal it. Another thing Erik may have to hide while he's here; Charles's squeamishness over killing might make hearing about Erik's efficient dispatch of a number of Shaw's associates difficult.

He shakes his head, stepping a foot back onto Cerebro's platform and reaching out to Charles. "I had no expectation that you'd find her. Not so easily, at any rate."

"I know. But _I'd_ hoped. And I didn't feel any trace of Alex, either." Charles stands straighter again and shakes his hands out. "Still, progress. And you can see I'm none the worse for wear."

"You look terrible," Erik says flatly.

"Little the worse for wear?" Charles offers with a smile.

"You're going to do that again for an hour and a half."

"Not quite that, precisely," says Charles. "We were testing something new, which is often a little more difficult at first. I've been using Cerebro for years. Hank is prodigiously talented and skilled. I have complete confidence in the system."

Erik sweeps a look around the room, including Hank in his unimpressed assessment. "I'll come back in an hour twenty."

Charles sends, «You don't have to.»

Ignoring that, Erik says, "Til then."

*

Despite how much time he's spent working out over the past few days, Erik finds himself back in the gym anyway. A slow walk around the grounds didn't do much good, and as tempted as he was to find Darwin and propose a motorcycle ride, he found that he didn't want to leave the grounds while Charles was strapped into that... thing.

This time, though, it's not about lifting weights, and not about pushing his body to extremes. He pulls three of the lightest weights off the rack, takes a seat on a weight bench, and starts practicing his juggling.

The basic concept behind juggling is easy. On an academic level, it shouldn't be as challenging as it is. The trajectory of every plate, though, is anything but simple; each toss is different, each catch-- conceptual as it may be, since he's catching them with his gift and not his hands-- requires a separate adjustment.

The energy radiating from Cerebro is distracting, and he wishes he could stop thinking about Charles willingly entombed in that thing. He meant it when he said he's not afraid of labs anymore. It was a weakness that he couldn't afford and he's conquered it. This shouldn't bother him. He could refuse to participate in whatever "enhancements" they want to try. He never has to go into that room again if he doesn't want to.

Except that they want him to work with Hank eventually. Every excited statement Hank's made, every time he's mentioned Erik's power in conjunction with Cerebro, the gentle way Charles tried to introduce him to it: it's all been leading up to that goal. He could say no, and maybe it wouldn't wear out his welcome-- but what if Hank's right? What if Erik's help could make things better for Charles, easier?

Ability as experiment, tests that bring out the "best" in them, learning through labwork. It's ridiculous to think Charles could have learned all he has with nothing but his own mind-- Erik might _actually_ be capable of little more than forcing coins to land as he pleases, if it hadn't been for Shaw's relentless testing-- but the idea of Charles extending himself that _way_... it's beyond unnerving, far beyond that. And he's seen first-hand what Charles's range is, without the mechanical aid; what must it be when he's hooked up to that machine?

It might actually be _dangerous_ , helping Hank with Cerebro. As he is now, Charles is formidable; with Erik's help, he might be beyond anyone's control. If Erik participates in this experiment, all that power will be in Charles's backyard-- literally. _Is that really a good idea?_

He slaps the weight plates back onto the tree and grits his teeth. _You sound like one of_ them _. The humans who don't want any of us to be "too powerful". Are you really that afraid of him?_

If he is, he's got every reason in the world to be. But he's damned if he's going to behave like a human, letting his fear rule him. He's come too far for that.

He returns to the stablehouse after an hour and fifteen minutes.

He supposes he shouldn't be surprised to find Raven already there, lingering just outside the inner door to the room housing Cerebro.

Erik has practice enough at sharing space in waiting rooms with people who'd want him dead if they knew what he was. The relatively simple hostility Raven harbors him is easy to take; easier now that there's at least some background for it, some explanation. He'd probably have been just as protective of his mother or of John, if he'd been given half the chance. He can't fault her for that.

"I thought you saw it earlier," Raven says at length.

"I did. I also saw what it did to him." Erik can feel the strain of simply being here running up the center of his spine. It would be easy enough to let that strain curl his hands into fists, to tear the fragile little machine of theirs into pieces.

And probably tear Charles to pieces, too. He spreads his hands wide, forces himself to relax-- or if not relax, if that's not possible just now, at least to calm down somewhat.

Raven's looking at him, not quite confrontational. Her eyebrows aren't raised, her expression doesn't invite a challenge. But when her gaze drifts down to his hands, still splayed out at his sides, he jerks back a few steps, pulling himself away from her and a little further away from Cerebro, for all the good it does. He can still _feel_ it.

"After he's finished," Erik says, looking back over his shoulder at her, "what then?"

"What then?"

"Does someone take care of him, after?" Fifteen minutes and Charles looked like he'd been run over; he can't imagine how Charles will react to an hour and a half. "Or is he just left alone to sleep it off?"

Her eyes narrow. "Oh, that. Usually we wait until he's passing out and just roll him into the corner and cover him in crumpled tissues and wet cigarette butts." Her eyes harden, glittering-- but not gold. Not this time. He's beginning to understand what it must have meant, for them to flash gold at him all the way home from Hellfire. She isn't there, not tonight. Yet.

Raven's lips twist in ill humor as she strokes a hand through her long blonde hair. "Not that it isn't _sweet_ of you," she glares at him, "to care so much about his welfare."

"I shouldn't?" he returns, quietly, but with an edge to it. This time she does raise her eyebrows, minimally, but enough to let him know she's hearing the tone as much as she's hearing the words. "You do. I can't?"

"I've known him almost all my life," she fires back. "You've known him two days--"

"--in which he found me and brought me away from Hellfire, and he offered to help me take down an enemy I've been fighting nearly all _my_ life--"

"Angel and I helped you get away from Hellfire," Raven points out. "We're _all_ offering to put our asses on the line to get rid of Shaw."

She's right, of course. This place isn't all Charles, for all that Erik's had a difficult time drawing himself away from Charles long enough to learn much about anyone else. But Darwin's fast becoming the closest thing Erik's had to a friend in a very long time; Angel's extended that as well. To Hank, Erik supposes he's more a curiosity than anything, and to Raven, he's a dangerous new element, someone she isn't willing to trust with her brother. He won't be here long enough to change her mind on it; better to make peace as best he can, while he can.

"Then I owe all of you my thanks." Erik glances at the door. "Surely it's been an hour and a half by now."

Raven hesitates, but eventually says, "Pretty close to it. Come on." She picks a small backpack up off the floor and slings it over her shoulder, then pushes the door open and walks in ahead of him. Erik gently closes the door behind them before turning his attention to the rest of the lab, hoping that an hour and a half won't have taken a proportional toll on Charles.

It's much the same as before. Hank looks intent, not to say worried, scurrying around the room looking at screens and readouts. Charles stands under the hood, perhaps not so tense as when Erik last saw him; this time it's an even more eerie picture, though, the lights and Charles's open eyes and his lips moving soundlessly.

"Is he trying to speak? What's he saying?" Erik demands.

"It's just a weird side effect of some of the things he uses the system for," Hank answers. "It's happened before, it's fine."

Another minute of this, Charles with his thousand-mile stare and moving mouth, and Erik's skin is crawling; then Charles says aloud, "Point of order, please. I can't sustain all these connections and relay you to each other effectively when this many people talk at once."

More silent mouthing, and he adds, "Alphabetical by designated name? Sort it out... No, I will not. We're nearing the hour. Make up your mind."

Raven glances at Erik, but neglects to tell him who Charles is talking to. Not that Erik can't guess. If he were involved in the resistance and had access to a telepath who could enable communication between various players without a single technological trace, of course he'd use that. Erik hadn't counted on the communication Charles spoke of being quite so dramatic, but there's so much raw potential in Charles's ability that it's bound to seem unearthly at times..

It's still a bit disturbing to see Charles being used as a glorified switchboard, but Erik reminds himself that Charles is participating in the conversation as well as being their means of relay. It makes him think of Darwin's question from earlier-- _what will you do, after_ \-- and Erik's halfhearted response of tracking down other mutants who collaborate with their human oppressors, other mutants who prey on their own kind. Lab facilities.

In truth, Erik's never thought about what he'd do once Shaw is dead, but it's clear that for all Erik's years of solitude, there's a brotherhood of sorts out there. Hidden and secretive, but perhaps available to him now. Maybe the lengths everyone's going to in order to make Erik feel a part of a team will have benefits in the long term; maybe that's been their goal all along, to groom him for future work with the resistance.

"Understood," Charles says. "Then it's settled." He mouths a few more phrases, nothing Erik can make out, and then says, "Good night, ladies and gentlemen," and a bit more sternly, a tone that brooks no argument, "Over and out."

Near the computer banks, Hank's hands fly over the controls. "Charles, I'm shutting down, ten percent at a time."

"All right," Charles says.

"Ninety... eighty..." Hank counts down as Cerebro's lights dim.

When the machine releases him, lifts away from him, Charles tips his head back for an endlessly long moment. If it were any other time, under any other circumstance, Charles's closed eyes and open mouth and arched throat might hold a great deal of interest for Erik; as it is, Charles looks every bit as exhausted as he did earlier, and the way he's holding his neck indicates a bit of soreness as well. The helmet's supported from above, but Erik can feel how heavy it is by the drag of all that plastic and fiberglass on the metal pieces. Charles twists his head from side to side and stretches his neck out, as if confirming Erik's speculation.

"Well," he says, stepping away from the slab and putting his hands against the railing. He pauses and runs his fingers over its now-rounded edge, and Erik suppresses a smile; Charles glances up at him and doesn't even try to suppress his. "That went well." He's still absorbed by the railing, trailing his fingers over it and then leaning down, as if curious whether it will support his weight as well as it ever did. Erik frowns slightly and crosses his arms over his chest; it's not as though he'd have built Charles a substandard rail.

But Raven's stepping forward onto the platform, taking one of Charles's hands off the railing and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Come on, Raggedy Andy," she says, getting her arm around his waist. "Step down before you fall down."

"Raven, really," says Charles, tone embarrassed and chiding. "I'm perfectly all right--"

She guides him carefully down the stairs, during which it's clear Charles isn't quite as _perfectly all right_ as he claims. Perhaps that curiosity about the support of the railing was less about its structure and more a necessity.

A chair waits near the dais; Raven sits Charles down and goes to her backpack, out of which she pulls a bottle of some sort of electrolyte-enhanced drink and a bottle of painkillers. "How do you guys _never_ remember to take your stuff out here with you? You'd think at least one of the super geniuses would think of it." She hands the bottle over and doesn't stop staring at him until he's uncapped it and taken a swallow, grimacing past the taste.

"I remember sometimes," Charles offers.

"Like, once? Ever?" She shakes out two pills and hands them over, staring at him again until he takes them with another deep if reluctant swallow from the sports drink.

From above, still on the platform, Hank slaps his own forehead. "Actually, I restocked the lab fridge tonight and then forgot about it..."

"It's fine, thank you, Hank," Charles says. This time it doesn't take the prompting look from Raven to get him to drink, and by now he's nearly halfway done with the yellowish-green beverage. "I'll know for next time."

All these things are settling themselves into Erik's memory as he watches: the drink, the way Hank can become so absorbed in his work that he can forget about taking care of Charles after, Raven's matter-of-fact, almost brusque attitude. He remembers Charles describing Raven as protective, earlier, and he supposes that instinct can show itself in any number of ways.

In Erik's case, it's all bound up in an urge to pick Charles up bodily and take him somewhere quiet-- an urge he denies for any number of reasons. This isn't his place, as welcoming as people-- he eyes Raven-- _most_ people have been, and apart from that, any claim he might possibly have on Charles is tentative at best. He's a stranger here, for all the physical closeness he and Charles have offered one another.

"How did it go?" Hank asks. He has his tablet out again, ready to take notes.

"It went well," Charles says, nodding. Raven hands him his watch and he buckles it on, a different, more complicated model than the one Erik noted on him before. "Very well. I think I'm getting better at that, actually. It felt a little easier. And I only had to shush the crosstalk once this time, when everyone was wrought up and talking over each other."

"You're still mouthing what's being said, though," Hank frowns.

That _this_ is Hank's first concern makes Erik grimace. Perhaps there's something to Raven's casual attitude toward caring for Charles; an affectation covering for emotion. Or perhaps no one in this room really gives a damn how Charles comes out of these sessions, so long as he's useful to the resistance. No doubt if he asked Charles, Charles would claim that the resistance is bigger than any one man. But it certainly seems to _rely_ a great deal on one man.

Charles spots Erik's dark expression and seems to completely misunderstand the cause. "That's a terrible weakness so far as security goes, I'm aware. A camera and a lip reader and we'd be in trouble. It's just slipped between the cracks, and Hank examines every inch of this place before every session, so we haven't taken the time to train it out of me yet."

"I'm amazed no one's thought to gag you," Erik says witheringly. "That would at least prevent the lipreading."

Charles keeps glancing around the room, his gaze skittering over things, unseeing; his eyes don't seem to be able to keep focus. "We tried that, of course," he says, "but it's too distracting. I can't concentrate if I'm too aware of my body."

"You've..." Erik cuts himself off before he can say something he'll regret. "Forget I said anything." He opens his hands, palms up. "What do you need? Right now."

Raven cuts in, "Rest." She helps Charles back onto his feet. "C'mon, Charles."

Erik doesn't bother to ask what's going on. He follows them back, not letting Charles out of his sight. «I hope you don't think you're leaving me behind.»

«Wouldn't dream of it,» Charles responds.

Ignoring Erik entirely, Raven asks, "Is there anything I need to move on, coming out of that?"

"We need to close out the Eastbrook Consolidated shell company, Gina thinks it's been exposed. They're setting up an alternate pipeline for the money but it won't be ready til next month at the earliest." With black humor, Charles adds, "I don't suppose we can just write a check."

"Fuck, I put a ton of work into that one," Raven complains.

"I know. It wasn't us, they were rushed and they got sloppy on the other end."

"Maybe Wallace should pose as a Nigerian prince. You could pretend to be taken in and wire them cash for a while."

Charles shares a dark grin with her and sobers, shaking his head. "I know you'll be tempted, but don't start setting up something new right away. I want you to have time for rest and training. I've told everyone not to expect anything from us til we've dealt with this."

"I know," says Raven. "Priorities," and no more is said aloud for the rest of the distance back to the house and up to the second floor.

Charles steps away from Raven as they arrive at his room, leaning too heavily against the door. "Thank you," he says, and there's a brief pause. Hardly enough time to breathe a word, but Erik knows how quickly Charles's mental conversations can be conducted.

With an annoyed look, Raven says, "Okay, I'll be _right down the hall_ if you need me," pointedly not looking at Erik. She softens, though, and kisses Charles's cheek before she proceeds down the hall, throwing a "G'night." back over her shoulder.

"Good night!" Charles smiles after her, and then at Erik. "As I said, there's really not much to all this… just a lot of standing in place, and then a little downtime after."

"You couldn't at least have a chair?" Erik tries to joke. From the corner of his eye he sees Raven going into her room, which appears to be a fair distance down and across the hall.

"I really do find it more comfortable to stand, and it's angled, so I'm not entirely on my feet. Hank's been very diligent about making it ergonomic."

"Small favors." Erik hesitates. "Would you like some company?"

"Of course." Charles holds a hand out to him, and Erik takes it, squeezing a bit more tightly than he intended. Being able to touch Charles-- finally, after all that-- is comforting; Erik finds himself starting to relax as he rubs his thumb over the backs of Charles's fingers.

But they're lingering in the hallway, and they've been scolded enough about that for one day. Although Erik doesn't expect this to turn physical the way it did earlier this evening, it seems wisest to get Charles into his bedroom where he can safely collapse. A simple thought twists the doorknob and swings the door open in front of Charles, and Charles guides him inside.

"It must have taken quite a lot of getting used to," Erik says. He closes the door quietly behind them, still not quite willing to let go of Charles's hand. "Being able to stand that thing."

"It's not a question of being able to stand it. From the start I've been excited about what it lets me do." Charles presses Erik's hand in reassurance, and Erik responds with another light squeeze of his own. "I know what it might look like, but my experience with it has always been positive. Overwhelming sometimes, but not in a bad way."

"Overwhelming?" It might be nothing more than ego and imagination, but Erik's fairly certain he's seen what _overwhelmed_ looks like on Charles, and the demeanor he had when he stepped out of Cerebro-- both for the fifteen-minute session and the ninety-minute session-- bore little resemblance to Erik's idea of Charles in that state. "Is that really the right term for it?"

Charles smiles, mild and enigmatic; it's frustrating, not being able to read his expressions now. There's something too ethereal about him, as if part of Charles is still far away. Maybe Charles doesn't mind it, maybe he's learned to integrate these moments into his normal frame of experience, but for Erik it's unsettling.

"I showed you what it's like for me. Overwhelming, yes, it can be. I imagine when you use your power strenuously, it affects you." Erik has to nod in agreement; Charles smiles again at the confirmation. "But I doubt you shy away from that exertion."

"Well, no, but for me it's--" _physical_ , Erik considers filling in-- there's always an element of physical exertion and exhaustion to extensive use of his abilities-- but to describe it that way sidesteps some of the most exhilarating aspects of his power.

Maybe Charles is catching a glimpse of some of those memories in his mind. He repeats, "It's...?"

Erik raises an eyebrow; of all the people who've seen him use his power to its limits, Charles is probably the first who'd truly appreciate the aftereffects. He crosses his arms over his chest and considers Charles. "I wonder... when you've just been in that machine of yours-- when you're out and just yourself again-- is it difficult to step into someone else's mind, or is it easy?" He reaches up, brushes his fingertips across his temple. "Care to look? Can you?"

"Of course," says Charles. He closes his eyes and sends to Erik, coming through as strongly as ever, «Easily.»

Closing his eyes as well, Erik collects a memory, deliberately repressing its context. He projects the sensation of crumpling a large metal chamber with solid walls-- the power thrumming through his body, the exertion deeper and more intense than anything he'd known to that point, the gasping satisfaction of tugging everything together, then blasting it apart, until nothing was left but jagged shreds of metal and corrosion.

Just that part makes Charles gasp-- somewhere behind the memory, Erik can hear him breathing a little harder-- but there's more to it, of course. He shares the rest: the way he walked shakily back to his motorcycle and had to rest for several minutes before he trusted himself to drive it; the way he used his power to guide himself safely back to the hotel; stabilizing the motorcycle with his ability just because it _felt good_ , a delicate touch after so much exhausting, concerted effort.

«Yes, that, exactly,» Charles sends to him, but Erik shakes his head, and Charles catches the meaning with his mind, even if both of them still have their eyes closed. «No? Not that? Then...?»

«'Then', yes,» Erik says, becoming a bit more amused as he guides the memory-image of himself back to the motel room he'd been using as his base of operations. He blots out the map, not important, only a distraction, and the desk full of papers and files-- even in his memory he wasn't paying any attention to them, having accomplished his goal so very, very well.

Instead, he stripped down, leaving his clothes and his boots crumpled on the floor. He'd been in dark leathers, since he'd been on the motorcycle for most of this trip; he can feel Charles perking with interest at the memory, a moment's mental lament for the fact that there wasn't a full-length mirror in the room.

The emotions aren't as powerful as they were then, the urgent desperation only a shadow of what he felt at the time, but perhaps Charles can call emotion out of a memory more readily, or perhaps simply sharing the memory is inspiring. As Erik concentrates on the way it felt, standing there, bare skin tightening in the overly air-conditioned room, he can almost taste the need again, choking on it, like a mouthful of copper.

He thought about going out, finding someone to fuck, someone to use the rest of that energy on, but it would have taken too long, courted the risk of rejection and having to start all over again. There's a flattering sense of disbelief from Charles-- _how could anyone have, why would they, no, not possible--_ but Erik ignores that, because regardless of what might have happened, what he's sharing with Charles is what _did_ happen.

And more than once; more than twice, more than three times, he lost count somewhere after four. He lay on top of the covers, one hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the other between his legs, alternating between cupping his balls and pushing fingers inside himself, getting himself off over and over, exhausted and shaking and ruined but still needing _more_.

There's more to the memory, but this is what he's prepared to give Charles for now: the wreck of himself, spurred to unimaginable need by stretching his ability to its limit and exceeding all his hopes of success. He draws himself out of the memory with effort, catching his breath as he blinks his eyes open and looks at Charles.

Charles is looking back at him, more than slightly affected by Erik's memories, but the expression on his face is sly, connoting a deep and visceral sense of understanding, a shared secret. "There is that, yes," he murmurs. "Raven gets annoyed that I want to be alone after." He takes a step closer, going on, "It's hard to explain..."

But that's apparently all his body can manage, after the toll the machine takes on him; he stumbles, and Erik reacts immediately, catching Charles in his arms and easing him back upright. Nearly upright, anyway; once pressed to Erik, Charles seems not at all inclined to stand on his own again.

Which is fine by Erik; after the memories he just shared, he's having a difficult time imagining why he'd want Charles anywhere else. He squeezes Charles around the waist, and, his voice a bit roughened from the still-lingering memory, murmurs, "What are you doing on your feet at all? You should be in bed."

Charles tilts his head up to look at Erik, a smile slowly dawning. Erik's tempted to graze his fingers over Charles's cheek, and he might, except he's not sure Charles could remain standing if Erik took any of his support away. Still, he can try giving the sensation to Charles, mentally; he projects a gentle touch on his face, the backs of his fingers rubbing down Charles's cheek to his chin, and Charles's lips part as he turns into the touch, looking as though he can feel every inch of that tenderness.

Erik's not certain how he's meant to resist that smile, growing gently wicked as Charles says, "So take me to bed."

"Don't tempt me," Erik groans, carefully guiding Charles to the edge of the bed, where he helps Charles sit down and then kneels on the floor so he can get Charles's shoes off.

"Not quite what I meant," Charles says, burying a yawn behind one hand, "but I won't argue..." He curls both hands over the edge of the mattress, looking down at Erik as Erik finishes with his shoes and tugs Charles's socks off, too. «I'm not really as worn out as all that, honestly. I'd like that, if you don't mind something a little slower.»

Finished with Charles's shoes and socks now, Erik slides his hands up the backs of Charles's calves, rubbing gently. The soft sigh he gets from Charles makes him draw his hands back down, caressing Charles's ankles, taking one of his feet in both hands and rubbing, soft at first and then harder, remembering Charles spent all that time standing, probably too divorced from his body to shift and ease the fatigue.

Charles groans, fingers tightening on the mattress and then going loose all at once, as some of the tension leaves him. Erik can't help a small smile of satisfaction.

«Are you implying I've never learned to do things at a slower pace?» Erik teases, switching to Charles's other foot and sliding the back of his thumb in tiny circles against Charles's instep; and then he starts over, giving full attention to each foot again in turn.

He isn't rushing this, at least, and from the sounds Charles is making, he doesn't think Charles would want him to.

«...a little harder, there,» Charles thinks, eyes fluttering closed as Erik finds a tense spot just above his heel. «Yes... you were... you asked... whether I meant that you hadn't ever learned to take things slowly--»

He clears his throat and switches to speech, leaning down and resting his hands on Erik's shoulders. "We haven't really had a chance to try it, that's all," he says, low, soft; the promise in that tone makes Erik slide his hands back up Charles's legs, resting his hands on Charles's thighs and squeezing gently. Then there's the brush of Charles's thoughts against his own, so familiar now, more than welcome; Erik closes his eyes and opens to him. «If I may...»

Erik's affirmative response, wordless but intense, brings another smile onto Charles's face. It's clear from the tone of Charles's thought and that gentle brush against Erik's mind that Erik's meant to wait, accept what he's being given rather than reaching out for more, and so he does just that, waiting with face upturned until Charles starts moving towards him, his considerable focus bent entirely on Erik, his touch too far away.

It's almost impossible to stay still-- the anticipation is going to kill him, Erik's sure of it. But he waits, not even parting his lips, holding still as Charles finally closes the distance between them and kisses him. This kiss is gentler than any Erik can remember with Charles-- Charles has a point about the pace of their encounters to date-- and slower and softer too, no pressure, no escalation, just the easy warm touch of Charles's mouth on Erik's.

Not pushing forward for more is difficult. Erik's lips tremble beneath Charles's, and Erik stops breathing, holding as still as he can. He can control his body easily enough, he has years of practice at that, but all the little metal items within a short distance of his body vibrate. He can feel his belt buckle moving, his zipper, everything down to the grommets on his boots.

Charles draws away from Erik, but not very far; when Erik opens his eyes, he can see Charles smiling at him. "You're making my watch buzz," Charles murmurs, touching his nose to Erik's; the pleasure and affection radiating off him are clear enough that Erik can read them even without telepathy.

Erik's hands tighten on Charles's thighs. "It was hard watching you in there," he admits, every word an effort. "And everyone is so matter-of-fact about it." He swallows, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling Charles under his hands: Charles here, present, tired but close to him. "I'm overreacting."

Charles moves his hands soothingly along Erik's shoulders, up and down his arms, as if Erik were the one who needed minding after all that. "With everything you've been through, I didn't expect you'd be able to stay there at all. I'm sorry it bothers you. But it really is all right."

There's nothing to do but believe him; Cerebro is too powerful a device not to use to its limits in the hunt for Shaw. But it's not Cerebro that pays the cost; it's Charles's limits which end up being strained. Erik comes to his feet and curls his arms around Charles's back, drawing Charles close. It's his turn to be gentle, offering Charles a light kiss, easy, moving his lips against Charles's as if to say nothing more than _I'm here; if you want me, I'm here._

Moving his hands to cradle Erik's face, Charles moans softly and opens his mouth a little more, inviting Erik to deepen the kiss. Erik does it, gladly, but he stays as warm and gentle as before. This kiss isn't a means to an end; Erik wants what's happening between them here and now, this comfort, this connection. If Charles is any less affected, Erik would never know it; he's kissing back with the same soft intensity, body pliant but focused under Erik's hands.

After a while, Charles draws back, eyes still closed. There's something beyond peacefulness or arousal in his expression; he looks _attuned_ to Erik, in a way that Erik can't quite manage to identify. Strangely enough, the expression _feels_ familiar; it's as though Erik can remember how it feels from the other side, from his side. They've been so compatible physically-- even mentally, at least where sex is concerned-- maybe this is another symptom of that.

Voice barely above a breath, Charles whispers, "Come to bed with me?"

It surprises Erik at first that Charles thinks it's in question-- but then again, the moment Charles asks, Erik begins wondering how long he can stay awake. This morning he moved the furniture in his room, ruined his alarm clock, pinned a fork from Hank's room to the wall. If he falls asleep here... he won't; he'll leave before then, if it comes to that.

"Of course," Erik whispers, reaching up, brushing Charles's hair off his forehead. "Of course I will."

Smiling, Charles takes his hands away from Erik and starts to unbutton his shirt. It's odd to watch; he's not moving as if he's tired, but as if he isn't quite making a full connection between brain and body, carefully moving his hands to each button and frowning slightly as the fabric finally comes loose. Erik gently takes Charles's wrists in his hands and sets them at his sides, then slides an arm under Charles's legs and one behind his shoulders, turning him and pulling his legs up on the bed. He doesn't seem to weigh anything at all; it's easy to move him and help him shift into a more comfortable position.

Once Charles is taken care of, Erik comes up on the bed himself, straddling Charles and running his hands up Charles's sides, drawing his sweater and shirt up and helping Charles shrug out of them. His undershirt comes next, up and over Charles's head, and Charles falls back on the pillows, eyes a little brighter as Erik's hands sweep down over his bare chest. «Kiss me again?»

Erik pulls his own turtleneck off and leans down, suspending himself over Charles, just out of contact. He dips his head, tracing the tip of his tongue across Charles's lower lip, and Charles opens his mouth for Erik. Despite that, Erik gives him only the barest touch of lips against lips. Charles has to tilt his head up to get more; he doesn't push past that, neither dragging Erik down against him nor sliding his tongue into Erik's mouth, though his thoughts communicate a faint sense of temptation for both.

He draws back a moment later, one eyebrow arched. "Are you teasing me? That's not very kind."

When Erik answers, his tone _is_ teasing; he traces one fingertip down the side of Charles's face. "Surely you've been overwhelmed enough for one evening."

He stays in place for just long enough to catch the smile that earns him, and crawls down the bed, hands working at Charles's belt and fly, drawing his pants and boxers off and tossing them aside.

"So confident," Charles says, arching, stretching his arms above his head. Erik's a little mesmerized by the movement, all that supple muscle on that slight frame, even moreso when Charles stretches his legs, too. His toes flex and point, and when he relaxes, his legs fall slightly open, not quite obscene but certainly skewing that direction. "Not without cause," Charles adds, mischievous.

Erik bends his head down and kisses the inside of Charles's thigh-- not high enough to be the start of something more intimate, his lips pressing just above Charles's knee. "Even you ought to have a chance to be surprised now and again," he says, and he slips out of bed, quickly undressing. "I think someone may have mentioned you liked that."

Climbing back into bed once that's done can't really be much of a surprise, but when he settles down on top of Charles, maybe the lack of inhibition is. This time he's not teasing and not hesitating; he presses himself against Charles, bare skin to bare skin, touching every inch of Charles's body that he can reach.

One of them lets out a soft groan of satisfaction-- Erik thinks it's Charles, but maybe they're doing it together. He can feel that satisfaction deep in the core of him. Touching Charles-- _this much_ of Charles-- is soothing and arousing, all at once, and if he's being honest with himself, he's been wanting it all day long. There was nothing lacking about their mental encounter in the shower, but the rest of the day's been full of stolen kisses and postponed activity.

But Erik's also coming to believe that he could spend a week in bed with Charles, no other responsibilities at all, and still not feel sated. _Take what you can get, then,_ he thinks, rocking his hips down against Charles's. _Take what these two weeks have to offer and stop thinking so damned hard about it._ He brings his mouth down on Charles's shoulder and sucks at the skin there, not quite hard enough to leave a mark.

Charles's arms move up and down Erik's back, and Erik nips softly at Charles's shoulder. "I don't think I mind being overwhelmed, with you," Charles murmurs, voice carrying a hint of a growl. He catches Erik by the hair and tugs gently, and Erik moves with the gesture, but instead of kissing him again, Charles rubs his temple against Erik's...

And the world opens up so quickly it's nearly a blur. Erik gasps, clutching at Charles, holding on tightly as he's taken along for this ride. He can feel what Charles feels, the fatigue, the way everything in his body feels like so much... _less_ than what he can sense with his mind. But there's arousal too, physical as well as mental, thrumming just under the surface.

Erik's memory of tearing the metal structure apart is, it turns out, very similar indeed to Charles's experience. All the power Charles has been using tonight has excited his body as much as it's taxed his energy, and he's hungry for an outlet. Charles squirms beneath Erik, cock hard, a smear of fluid grazing across Erik's thigh, and Erik's staggered by the sensation, hungry for all the things Charles seems to be promising.

«I think I know what to do about this,» Erik projects. Charles's eyelashes flutter in response, anticipation clear in his face. Erik kisses Charles's forehead, and for a moment, their smiles match. «I don't suppose you have anything slick nearby...?»

Charles's bubbling sense of amusement makes his grin grow even wider. He glances over at the nightstand. «You think I'm the one man who doesn't at least keep some lotion around? Top drawer of the bedside dresser, take your pick.»

Now that he's pointed it out, Erik can tug the drawer open with his power and feel about; surely one of the bottles has a pump with a spring, even that would be enough. He feels a small sense of triumph as he locates one with a steel coil inside and lifts it out of the drawer, floating it over to the bed.

Charles's charmed grin is almost overwhelming itself. Time and time again, Charles has shown Erik that Erik's gifts are a source of pleasure to him, particularly when he's using them just because he can, because it makes as much sense as reaching for something with his hands. Seeing it now is a reminder that Erik could actually _belong_ here-- these are his people, creating a life for themselves despite everything the world's thrown in their way.

It's too much to think about; he can't possibly stay. Imagining a future is only going to distract him from his true goal: Shaw, Shaw's _death_ , so close he can nearly feel Shaw's throat underneath his hands. His palms itch with desire for it.

But his immediate want can be answered right now, and his body's burning for that, too. He lifts himself up, slightly, astride Charles, holding himself upright nearly without effort. Charles seems to take notice, though, stroking his hands up and down the tensed muscles of Erik's thighs admiringly.

«Shall I guess what you're thinking?» Charles is confident enough to pass the image along. It's a delicious thought, Erik slicking his palm with lube and rubbing it over his cock, then drawing Charles's up alongside it, caressing and squeezing them both. There's a sense of arousal from Charles, not just for the act itself, but-- _oh_. It's his hands, Erik's hands; Charles communicates a profound attraction to Erik's hands. In particular, he's enamored of the length of Erik's fingers and the elegant, powerful ways he moves them, particularly when he's using his gift.

That such movements are sensualized for Charles surprises Erik not at all; he flexes his hands as Charles finishes the image, which ends with Erik's hand all but drenched in lube, finally stroking them off together the way he did last night in the study. Erik can nearly feel the slippery warm strength of his own hand on his cock, the soft glide of Charles's skin so intimate against his own, but thankfully Charles isn't trying to project the full experience, only the hint of it. Erik's not sure he could have lasted very long if he'd gotten the entire picture, sensation and all.

It's not what Erik had been thinking, but if anything, that only makes it more arousing. It's flattering to know that even after several encounters and nearly constant company, Charles is still thinking of ways to please Erik and be pleased by him. And it's comforting to realize Charles is willing to give Erik a little mental distance, to let Erik surprise him, even at moments such as these, when reaching into Erik's thoughts must seem as natural as breathing.

He smiles down at Charles and shakes his head. "If that's a request, it's one I'd be happy to accommodate," he says, "but I had something else in mind."

«Don't let me keep you from it,» Charles thinks, smiling. «I'm all yours.»

It starts out the same as Charles's fantasy, Erik slicking his palm generously with lube. Instead of reaching for his own cock, though, Erik glides the lube down Charles's shaft, taking a bit more time than he might have, before Charles shared all those lust-heavy images of Erik's hands. He shows off, his fingers tight on Charles, moving slowly up and down; it earns him a sharp, deep inhale from Charles and another beautiful smile.

"I like your plan already."

Erik gives Charles a quick little grin, looking up from under his eyelashes. "So do I."

Charles reaches behind himself to ruck the pillows around so he's inclined more, getting a better angle to watch Erik, and that's satisfying, too. Erik's happy to do more of this, and after six weeks of showing off for people he didn't give a damn about at Hellfire, it's gratifying, getting to show off for someone he actually wants to please.

He's getting harder by the moment, but he ignores that, watching Charles's cock and then flicking his eyes back up to look at his face. He pays careful attention to Charles's expression, learning the ways he likes to be touched. Charles is still watching him-- looking at Erik's hand on him, and then gazing up at Erik's face, intent and focused. It wouldn't take telepathy to guess that Erik's trying to absorb everything he can with each gliding stroke down Charles's cock, every nuance of what pleases him.

«I can show you, if you'd like to cheat a little,» Charles offers. Erik tightens the circle of his thumb and index finger just under the head of Charles's cock and twists gently, and Charles arches his back, breath coming a little faster. «But like I said the other morning, you don't really need any help... you have a wonderful touch...» As Erik draws his hand down Charles's shaft, Charles's thoughts drift out of coherence, his hips lifting into Erik's gliding strokes.

This rhythm seems to be working beautifully for Charles; once Erik's settled fully into it, he slips his other hand between Charles's legs. The curls here are dark and reddish, much redder than Charles's hair, and trimmed a bit, almost certainly. Erik smooths Charles's wiry curls with his fingertips, cupping and rolling his balls in the palm of his hand, letting the heat from his own body warm them. He moves his fingertips just behind them to stroke Charles's perineum, pressing lightly against that small patch of skin, and as Charles's eyes slit nearly closed and he licks his lips, Erik's grin grows more and more broad.

«Right here, is that it? Is that what you like?» Erik gives him another long stroke, left hand's fingertips pressing in a little harder; Charles moans, deep and heartfelt.

Erik does it again, and again, tightening his right hand's grip, pressing and stroking with his left, but forcing himself to keep to a steady pace; he'll give this to Charles more firmly, but not faster, not yet. It looks like Charles wants him to speed up, he's beginning to rock up with more and more driving insistence, but right now it's up to Erik, and he's not letting Charles rush him, not tonight.

«What you look like right now,» Erik thinks, and he's anything but unaffected by all this; at the rate he's going he'll be dripping pre-come onto Charles's thigh in no time. «You can't imagine the things I want to do to you.»

«Don't underestimate me, I have a good imagination,» Charles gives him a lazy smile, belied by the shudder in his labored breath. «That feels amazing; you could do that forever if you like.»

Erik laughs. "No, I'm not patient enough for that." Finally, he takes his hand off Charles's cock, his left hand lingering a few more moments to stroke his balls before he takes that one away, too. He pumps out a bit more lube and kneels up further, and then he slides three fingers inside himself, wincing as he stretches himself open.

It's never been erotic to him, doing this for himself-- he'd much rather have a partner do it-- but when he sees the look on Charles's face, it's nearly enough to change his mind. Charles comes up on his elbows, staring openly.

"Now that is a picture," he says, low and throaty. But he's not content to watch; he licks his hand and reaches for Erik, gently sliding and circling fingers around his erection. As good as that feels, it's clear that Charles is handling him as much for the pleasure of touching him as for Erik's benefit. He strokes and squeezes, but it's not about driving Erik toward a quick orgasm, thankfully. They can play like this for a while.

"I think _now_ you can guess where I was headed with this." Erik withdraws his fingers and then slides them inside again, slower this time; now it's less about efficiency and more about sharing this moment with Charles. "Can't you?"

Charles grins at him. "You're right. Sometimes it is nice to be surprised." His thumb and forefinger form a ring, much the way Erik's did, and Charles mimics the little twisting motion Erik gave Charles, just beneath the head of his cock. "Though..." And he stops, leaving Erik staring down at his hand, waiting breathless for the next twisting stroke. "There's also something to be said for..." and there it is, that tight twisting stroke working all the way down his length, _yes_ , "informed anticipation."

Erik groans a little, for once grateful he had so much training before Hellfire, to say nothing of during those six weeks. He shivers, but he has just enough concentration to continue preparing himself, pressing his fingers in, stretching himself and making sure he's slick enough for what he wants. "Yes," he pants, and when he has control of his voice again, he says, "I'm _anticipating_ riding you." The rest he gives Charles mind-to-mind: «I want to know what you look like when you're inside me.»

He's not the only one whose control over his voice is growing shaky; Charles manages a ragged, "Oh, that's..." before switching to thought, too: «--not fair at all, sending something like that; you're so clear.» With a little effort, he speaks out loud again, though he's still just as hoarse. "I want to see you take me. Watch your face while you sink down onto me."

It doesn't take any more convincing than that. "Yes," Erik whispers, "oh, yes, I'm ready." He steadies Charles's cock with his slick, messy hand, and positions himself carefully. With his other hand, he reaches forward, catching Charles's hand in his and lacing their fingers together.

He locks his eyes onto Charles's, and that's it, _together_ : feeling every bit of that connection, Erik sinks down, taking Charles inside him one torturously slow inch at a time.

His thoughts are tangled with Charles's, the desire and pleasure mingling around both of them until Erik barely knows what he's thinking, until he can't tell their minds apart. «So good, so good, God, I've wanted you all day...» He thinks that's him, it's true enough if it's him, but Charles's blissful smile makes Erik suspect he isn't the only one who's been longing for a little more time together.

«Do you want to know how this feels?» Charles sends. «You're perfect.» And for an instant, Erik can see himself through Charles's eyes, Charles's attention sharp and focused, rapt as Charles takes in Erik's reactions: the momentary wince at being entered, and then the spreading tense, expectant satisfaction as Erik gets what he wants.

It almost isn't enough, which nearly makes Erik laugh at himself; he has Charles underneath him, he's full in a way that stretches and burns, he's holding onto Charles's hand, and Charles is sharing thoughts and sensations with him-- all that, and Erik wants more.

But with Charles still affected by exerting his gifts in Cerebro, his mind parched and sharpened, maybe it's all right to be greedy; maybe if Erik asks for what he wants, he has a chance of getting it.

The possibility makes him brave enough to drive his thoughts forward, letting Charles hear everything. «Yes, go on, show me--» He wants to see himself through Charles's eyes, wants the awe and surprise that go along with seeing what Charles thinks of him, and he wants to give that same experience to Charles, too. «Feel what I'm feeling--» Even Erik can't name all the things he's feeling-- maybe he's not brave enough to try. But named or not, those emotions are running through him, now more than ever, deep need driving him to rise up and lower himself on Charles's cock again and again.

Now that he's giving Charles his thoughts and his feelings, it's as though he can't stop: «You, I need you, need you inside me, need you deeper, deeper than this, more--» Further and further, taking more and more of Charles, wanting every last inch; finally, he lowers himself down all the way and rocks down hard, Charles meeting him there and pressing his hips up, making Erik groan at the depth and fullness, at how incredible Charles feels inside him. «Yes...»

All the things Erik's been feeling from Charles, and now this-- the dam bursts, Charles's eagerness a river flooding into Erik's mind, and Erik's swept away in all the things Charles wants to show him.

It's so much more than the physical sensations of both their bodies, though of course there's that-- Charles lets Erik see the way he's admiring Erik's thighs and abs flexing, Erik's muscles well-defined, shifting and tightening as he he holds and moves; there are the physical sensations of all that fantastic slippery heat, too, as Erik draws himself up and down and takes Charles _so deeply_ inside him.

Erik's mouth falls open in sheer wonder at that, the way Charles sees him. He's used to thinking of his body as a tool and not a toy, something to be used and not something to enjoy, and this is-- more, so much more than simple use or even simple pleasure, so unlike those few brief encounters he's had in the last ten years.

And it's more than simple pleasure for Charles, too; beyond the excitement of being inside Erik, there's a shy decadent feeling of being catered-to and indulged, answering a desire Charles has had for a long time. This connection, _now_ , after the expansive experience of using Cerebro... Erik can feel what this is normally like for him, that Charles is accustomed to just relieving the arousal with a drowsy wank before sleeping.

This is so much more; part of Erik thinks _this is more than everything_ , and just as quickly lets the thought go, flowing away from him as he lets himself float on Charles's thoughts and emotions and sensations. He tries holding onto the vision of Cerebro the way Charles sees it, as a tool, one he admires and appreciates, something that pleases him, elevates him.

Even so, Erik still can't help being desperate to give Charles a surge of relief, that connection Charles has been craving all this time. It's soothing to have Charles back with him, after an hour and a half of concern and fear, and Erik tightens his hold on Charles's hand, sending out his thoughts: «Here, I'm here, with you, you can feel me, I'm here...»

He can feel the answering recognition, the delight running through Charles when Erik projects to him-- so Erik goes further, trying to give Charles what Charles is giving him. He starts with the visual of it, how amazing Charles looks right now: his expression tight, rapturous, his mouth open and reddened, the tip of his tongue a soft tease across his lips that makes Erik want to taste them. Erik imagines following a path over Charles's lips with his own tongue, and then the image shifts to Erik's fantasy of Charles's beautiful red mouth sliding down his cock.

The stretch of Charles's neck, the way Erik's hands could curve over his throat and hold Charles close ( _his throat, careful, safe, but in my hands_ , but no, he's not thinking of that now), the way he could palm Charles's head in his hands, too, his long fingers gently working through the strands of Charles's hair.

And Charles's eyes, so blue, but the vivid color isn't what Erik likes best about them. It's the way he looks at people, at _Erik_ , his eyes radiating intelligence, knowledge, curiosity, and acceptance above everything-- but as an equal, a friend, not as someone who wants to use Erik for his own ends. It's been so long since Erik's had someone like Charles that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

It _didn't_ feel like this, he has to remind himself; even when he had a friend, an equal, a partner, he wasn't Erik's lover. Charles is becoming all those things so quickly, and it's new to Erik, someone who can be so much to him at once.

He tenses his thighs and pushes himself up again, drives himself down on Charles's cock, and he shares that: the way it feels to be full like this, Charles's cock a warm real weight inside him. This is no fantasy, not a dream or a lie, and every move Erik makes sends pleasure reeling through him.

It's the same pleasure that echoes into Charles, reverberates from Charles, one inexorably connected to the other, an openness Erik didn't believe could possibly exist. And beyond the openness of his body, there's how badly Erik wanted Charles, how incredibly deep that feeling goes, and Erik's tired of hiding it; tired of pretending the idea isn't half consuming him with every new minute he spends here.

«I want you,» he sends, letting it drown him, letting it rush through him and into Charles, no stopping it, no hiding from it. «I want you, can you feel how much, can you...?»

Instantly, Charles responds, «I do, yes, it's--» His emotions are a torrent, excitement and craving, warmth, affection, greed, happiness. Erik holds still, accepting that, letting it fill him as Charles pushes forward a burst of wordy lucidity in a moment between one breathtaking sensation and the next. «It really is a cruel anatomical trick that I can't do this and also suck you off.»

Erik nearly laughs, but then Charles is rocking up into him, in spite of his varying, warring desires; Erik nearly vibrates, realizing Charles is too thrilled to hold back. It _isn't_ just him, not this time; Charles proves it in his actions and in his thoughts, pleading: «I want you, so much of you, will you kiss me, cover me, can you do that, more of you--»

He can do all of that, and he does, bending forward to cradle Charles's head in his hands. Heedless of any leftover slickness, Erik just needs his hands on Charles's skin now, his chest up against Charles's, and his mouth messily seeks out Charles's so Erik can kiss him, hot and open and desperate.

«Anything, anything, you can have anything, take anything,» and he means it so deeply it's almost vicious, a shade of triumph over everything he used to be and everything he's grown beyond, «I want all of it.»

Charles throws his arm around Erik's neck; it's a little awkward, but Charles clings with determination, getting his other elbow under him to push up more. «That's it, God that's good,» he kisses back, sucking ardently at Erik's mouth, taking every bit of Erik's desperation and matching it with his own, both of them forgetting any notion they might have had to take this slowly. «What do you need? I'm-- soon, close, let me--»

 _Let you,_ Erik thinks, _no, not enough_ , and he grabs for Charles's hand, catching it and drawing Charles's arm away from his neck. «Push me for it, push me into it, do it this way--» He presses Charles's hand against the side of his face, tongue flicking out to lick the tip of Charles's thumb. «Go on, go on, all that power, I want it, you could make me beg for it, please, Charles, please--»

Everything in Charles seems to ignite at once; his hand tightens on Erik's face as he jerks underneath him, face contorting into pleasure so fierce it nearly looks like agony. «Erik!» he gasps, and then his thoughts tumble over each other, so fast Erik almost can't make it out: «There is such a thing as too surprising and that was it!»

Erik's not sure how Charles can hold off orgasm, his own or others', but when Charles shares with him that he's had to do just that in response to Erik's eager entreaty, Erik nearly chokes. He's been held back physically before, of course, and this is similar, a weight, a pressure, but to feel Charles needing to employ that trick simply because Erik wanted him so badly-- it nearly sets Erik off, too, and Charles holds onto him as well this time, his breath fast and shallow as he keeps them both from coming.

« _Simply_ because,» Charles thinks at Erik, «there's nothing simple--» He shares his feeling at that moment, Erik's willingness nearly too exciting to bear-- and yes, Charles is overwhelmed, just as Erik promised at the start.

Charles takes a deep breath and slides his thumb over Erik's lips, slow at first and then faster as Erik parts his lips to accept that small part of him, the soft invasion increasing the pitch of Erik's already fevered arousal-- it's not as good as sucking Charles's cock, and good God but Erik wants that now, but it's driving him further and further up the spiral of uncontrollable arousal at a fast and steady pace.

Charles is there with him, his hips working hard, feet braced so he can bring that much more force to bear, fucking frantically up into Erik in answer to the need in Erik's body-- and instead of pulling the shutters off, he pushes Erik _through_ them, bringing Erik to climax with a hard, knowing push in just the right place in Erik's mind.

It's like having the world white out around him; it feels like every part of him is coming, more than just his body, more than just the pleasure building at the base of his cock and sending him over. Erik's vision blanks, and he clutches at Charles, no hope of censoring any of his thoughts, they're already in Charles's head as he thinks them: «yes, yes, yes, so good, so good, amazing, can't be real, can't be happening, what _is_ this between us, never want to go...»

It goes on and on, forever, until Erik isn't sure if he's ever been anywhere else, ever felt anything else. There's nothing but Charles, Charles's hands on him, Charles's mind swallowing all of Erik's thoughts, and dimly, Erik feels the pulse of Charles's cock deep inside him, too, connecting them through the highest peak of their climax. And just when Erik thinks he's going to scream, or cry, or go mad, the pleasure starts to ease, the violent cresting finally letting him go, leaving him half-collapsed with his hands on Charles's chest.

He pants for air, blinking down at Charles, overwhelmed himself now beyond all ability to calculate. Even his thoughts can't be ordered into words; he can only look at Charles and share his feelings, tangled in a mess of arousal and satisfaction and tenderness and pleasure, with the barest hint of fear riding along beneath them all. It's not fear of Charles, and that's the hardest thing to realize, among all this: it's the fear of losing him.

Charles manages to lift one of Erik's hands from his chest, and he brings it up to his face, pressing his lips to Erik's palm. A sweeping sense of affection and gratitude washes over Erik, and Charles nuzzles Erik's hand. «You're stunning.»

Too exhausted to do anything other than catch his breath and collapse forward onto Charles's chest, Erik clings tightly, sharing his fulfillment, his grateful astonishment. «You amaze me.»

He feels the barest press of a kiss against his hair, and smiles against Charles's chest, rubbing his face back and forth, Charles's skin taut and warm under him. "We can start a mutual appreciation society," Charles murmurs, combing his fingers through Erik's hair. There's a radiating sense of sated contentment and fondness, and Erik thinks it's Charles's-- it feels like he's absorbing it rather than sending it-- but he gives it back to Charles, thought for thought, feeling for feeling.

As he slowly starts to come back to himself, he squirms off to Charles's side and carefully-- as though asking permission-- drapes an arm over Charles's chest. He'll go if Charles asks him to, but he doesn't think that's going to happen. And when Charles rests his hand over Erik's, keeping Erik's arm right where it is, Erik's sure.

"That was," Charles's tone is light, almost teasing, "very therapeutic."

Erik lets out a half-laugh against Charles's side. "Glad to--" It's easier to switch to thought than it is to mumble out the rest of that sentence. «--be of service; I'll be happy to help in the future...»

«Oh, in that case I'll step up my sessions.»

There's nothing but playful affection in the tone of Charles's thoughts, but Erik clings to him all the harder anyway. «No,» he projects, and the instant the thought leaves his head, he tries to tug back against the panic laced through it. «That is... I'd miss you in the outside world.»

For a while, Charles is silent, stroking his fingers gently up and down Erik's arm. "If they do have a telepath who can block me, I won't be much help to you unless I find her and work out how to counter her."

Displeased as he might be with the idea of Charles back in Cerebro-- in Cerebro even more than he usually is, no less-- Erik can't argue the point. There are other concerns, too, more reconnaissance to be done, things Charles can only do with the artificial boost. Maybe Hank's right; maybe Erik could help increase Charles's strength, or relieve some of the burden Cerebro places on him. Either way, it's worth pursuing.

Charles must sense Erik's distress, because he nudges Erik's forehead with his nose, and once Erik's tilted his head back, kisses him softly. Erik offers up everything he has into that kiss: all the passion he's unable to deny, all the sentimentality he fears he can't afford.

It's a mistimed foray into a conversation neither one of them has the energy to have, and part of Erik is relieved to let it go.

«Rest now?» He might even be able to stay here a little while, though it would be a terrible idea to fall asleep like this. Even after all the use he's put his power to today, he could end up destroying the room if his dreams are bad enough.

The idea seems to appeal to Charles; he mumbles out his agreement and turns slightly to twine himself around Erik that much more. His thoughts are fainter now, fuzzier and dwindling even as he sends them. «Thank you for staying. Being here. It's good... you're warm… safe...»

Even through his drowsiness, Erik's determination makes his thoughts clear. «I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe here, safe now. Sleep, Charles.»

Another soft embrace, and Charles nods against Erik's chest, his face slackening. Lying beside him-- all too aware of how much trust he's being offered-- Erik can't help feeling a sense of faith, _Charles's_ faith in him, and the peacefulness of Charles's settling thoughts as he drifts off.

*

The third time Erik's eyes drift closed and his head starts to tip, he can't ignore it anymore. He really is falling asleep, wrapped up snugly in Charles's arms.

Staying here is beyond tempting, but after his nightmare this morning, it's a terrible idea. It would be safer to sleep well away from everyone, not just Charles. He should have asked Darwin if there are empty rooms elsewhere in the mansion, places that don't have people surrounding them, where the metal isn't woven through the doors and walls. For the next two weeks, these people are his allies; he should be protecting them from himself, too, not just outside threats.

And Charles... especially Charles. Erik presses himself against Charles's body, as much of him as he can reach, absorbing that closeness and warmth... it's good, so good, no wonder he hasn't forced himself out of bed yet.

But there'll be more time for that, maybe as soon as tomorrow morning; maybe instead of contenting himself with the shower, for all that it was delightful, he'll come up to Charles's room early, wake him up with something physical. Or something mental, again, or both.

It's enough of a bribe to get him moving, and so he pulls slowly away from Charles, cautiously slipping his arm out from under Charles's head. Charles, still sleeping, rolls with Erik's motion, and as Erik frees his arm, Charles pitches forward onto Erik's chest, one leg insinuating itself over Erik's thigh.

Erik kisses Charles's forehead; if he has to wake Charles to do this, best to do it gently. "Shhh," he whispers. "It's all right." He shifts, carefully easing Charles back to the other side of the bed, settling him down with a light stroke to his temple, a soft little rub with his fingertips.

Charles's mental voice comes through, a little fuzzy, still. «What… Is something wrong?» To Erik's dismay, Charles begins pushing himself up, shaking his head to wake himself. «What happened?»

«Nothing,» Erik sends back, «nothing, go back to sleep.» He puts both hands on Charles's chest, stopping all of Charles's motion in its tracks; Charles's eyes flutter closed as Erik presses him back into the mattress. «Nothing's wrong.» He tries infusing it with all the assurance he can muster, _everything's normal, everything's all right._ «I'll see you in the morning. I'll see you at breakfast.»

But Charles is still trying to wake up, and he squints up at Erik in the darkness. He reaches out, his hand skimming over Erik's shoulder. «Are you all right? Can't you sleep?»

Erik leans down and kisses him, careful and patient; if his mental reassurances weren't enough for Charles, maybe this will be. He strokes his hands through Charles's hair, traces circles over his temples with his fingertips as he draws back. «I'm fine, Charles. I don't sleep well; I don't want to keep you awake with it.» Erik knows Charles hasn't forgotten about this morning, about the way Erik woke everyone in the hallway. In his room downstairs, he'll be safe enough. No one said he'd moved their furniture or shifted anything more serious than a fork.

Erik catches a slight sense of understanding in response, and breathes more easily; there's no recrimination in that little mental nudge. «That's all it is,» he sends to Charles. «Don't worry.»

But Charles reaches up and cups Erik's face, and Erik closes his eyes immediately, sinking into the warmth of that gesture. He's too reliant on these touches, enjoys them far too much, but this life won't be his for very long; he'll take what he can, while he can.

«Maybe,» Charles offers, «it would be different, maybe you'd sleep better if you were here. Try?»

It's a temptation so strong Erik can feel it all the way to his bones-- but then, most things with Charles have been like that. He licks his lips, teeth digging briefly into the lower one, and rubs his cheek against Charles's palm again, knowing what his answer has to be.

«I'm not safe, Charles.» Erik presses Charles's hand to his face with his own, taking as much comfort and affection as he can before he forces himself to move away. He slips his hand into Charles's, squeezing. «I'd stay if I were.»

If anything, though, Charles seems to grow more content, more a source of comfort even than before. «You can't hurt me,» he assures Erik-- so confident, even only half-awake. «I can't help being a little receptive while I'm sleeping. If I sense agitation or danger, I'll wake up right away.»

Erik closes his eyes, head tipping down. He's exhausted; it's been a long day full of frustration, of exertion, of worry and of deep, fathomless comfort, and the prospect of leaving that comfort aches, deep and intense.

Maybe Charles is right; maybe Erik would actually sleep better here, in this oasis of peace welling up from Charles's mind. It's a little frightening how much Erik wants that to be true.

He glances around Charles's room. There's a lot in here he could damage, a great deal of metal, but all the smaller items that could be flung around the room, those he can probably take care of now. "Give me ten minutes to get some things put away," he says.

He can feel a little sadness from Charles, regret as Charles realizes how common this routine is for Erik, but it doesn't stop Erik from gathering up all the metal items he detects, floating them to the furthest dresser, piling them in amongst vests and cardigans and wedging the drawer shut when he's finished.

«I'd sense it if you used your power near me as well,» Charles tries to tell him, but Erik's deliberate about ignoring him, going over the room to check for anything else that needs to be tucked away.

There's the alarm clock at Charles's bedside. His own clock is ruined, the second clock in two days; he's beginning to wonder if he shouldn't have them around at all. Charles's is significantly fancier, probably not something he wants to lose. Erik gauges the distance between the bed and the bathroom and nods, unplugging the power cord and carrying the alarm clock off to the bathroom, where he plugs it in again and double-checks to ensure that the time is still accurate, alarms still set.

«Erik,» Charles sends from the bed, and as Erik comes back, Charles reaches out and catches his arm. «I promise, I'd wake as soon as you started.»

Erik puts his hand over Charles's and kneels down at the bedside, his face at a level with Charles's. «I'm very fast, Charles,» he thinks darkly, remembering times he's cut himself in the split-seconds before full awareness came back to him, «and I'm not risking you.»

Charles's fingers loosen their grip, and he rubs at Erik's forearm. He's smiling, a little, though Erik can't imagine why. «All right,» he thinks, and he settles down in bed again, his thoughts staying slightly twined into Erik's as Erik finishes with the room. It's a little like being tangled up in Charles's limbs all over again, the way Erik was wrapped up in him as he was beginning to drift off; a sense of peace and contentment steals over him as he finishes the job and comes back to bed.

When things are as settled as possible, he slides beneath the covers and draws Charles into his arms again, his skin cool from being out in the air. Charles shivers a bit, but it only seems to make him more determined to curl himself around Erik, and as Erik fits himself against Charles's body, he finds he doesn't mind at all.

«There,» Erik sends, as Charles tucks his head against Erik's shoulder. «Better?»

Another soft wave of contentment washes over Erik, and it's impossible not to meet Charles's serenity with some of his own feelings, letting Charles in far enough to experience them all: gratitude, peace, a little worry, an even smaller amount of hope. He can almost sense Charles building a little fortress for the hope, making space for it, encouraging it, and Erik is tired and disarmed enough, the thought's sweet enough, to make him smile.

"Yes," Charles murmurs, «better. Thank you.»

He kisses Charles's temple. It's risky, offering trust like this to a man he's known such a short time, but Charles is trusting him, too. Erik closes his eyes and lets sleep take him; he slips into the soothing feel of Charles's body under and wrapped around his, Charles's mind gently bolstering his hope.


End file.
